Hierarchy III
by Ioik
Summary: 2184, Newly appointed Spectre, Garrus Vakarian and an eclectic Citadel Military crew, led by a half human/turian go on some adventuring.
1. Chapter 1 Rude Introductions

**Chapter 1 Rude Introductions**

An asari in a charcoal black military uniform leaned up against the side of an open cargo door. One dark heavy boot positioned on the ships cold metal ramp, the other dangling freely off the bottomless side, a precipice of sheer death unable to perturb her. Drawing in a smoky breath from the cigarette between her fingers the asari tilted her head back ruefully, allowing the holding hand to drop, expelling a blanket of smoke. There were faces in that cloud she longed to forget, but always they would haunt, like an eerie party of antique recollections.

A cool blast of freshly circulated air ran the length of her body, clutching feebly at her attire, and brought a chill to her forehead like a caressing hand on a particularly heated day. It was bliss in these moments, free of thought; no sense of urgency dared trouble her mind with its ramblings. Though, the Goddess had an odd sense of humour, always making sure someone other than fates reign be present in times of ecstasy. That company could be favourable, however, more than was reasonable not.

"I heard we're getting new blood today." A husky Russian voice interrupted the asari's quiet.

The asari's eyes opened slowly, as if afraid of blinding light, before tilting down to stare through the young human male sat alongside the cargo ramp. Flicking her arm up methodically she offered the human the cigarette, braced between her fingertips carnivorously, before contemplating any kind of response to his conversing.

"So." It was a statement not a question to answer, but the human would no doubt answer anyway. It seemed to her there was no stopping the curious species.

The human took the cigarette diligently, inhaling lightly, before exhaling through his nose.

"New crew. Maybe new women!" The human chuckled tapping the side of the asari's spit-shine boot with a teasing hand.

"Don't do that." A growl emitted under the neutral words as the asari closed her eyelids gradually.

They sat in undisturbed silence a moment longer before an irritated salarian female, on a rampage, stomped up behind them from the ships interior. The females tired pupils darted rapidly around at the packed crates, her lips motioning as she read the contents, before falling unwilling upon the ignorant pair that occupied the ramp way.

"WhereisthenewdrivercoilthatIorderedtwodaysago!" She spoke at flustered light speed.

_________________________

A young human woman stepped outside of her aunt and uncles familiar quarters looking incredibly nervous. The ward street was wide, bland and foreign to the young woman, filled with the scent of disinfectant and her alien allies busying themselves with morning irrelevance. Continuous daylight always made her feel out of sorts coupled with the never ending reminder that her feet were rooted on a giant sheet of metal and not a planet with its own gravity and ecosystem keeping her with the living. However, these things were the least of her daily troubles. Today she wore her new camouflaged armour, helping her stand proud and straight through the anxiety she felt, and carried a note of directions in her hand, which the young woman stared at blankly.

'_Docking bay 19, section 8, parapet 3._

_Hierarchy III'_

She read the words over and over, moving her lips silently, trying to lodge the brief instructions in the part of her mind that normally stored inappropriate fear. Shuffling a stray piece of, short curling maroon, hair from her autumn green eyes the woman gripped her free hand with insolence, at the universe in general, sighing with the weight of the Citadel on her shoulders. Taking a bold step forward, on her own private road of adult discovery, she heard the door behind her hiss open and an urgent sounding Irish women call out to her.

"Nano!" the women screeched causing some passers-by to misjudge their next action or pause to stare in a mist of bewildered curiosity.

"Huh? What?" Startled by the women's outburst Nano spun around on the spot, like an untrained ballerina, and began looking for danger instinctively.

"There you are girl. Frightened the life out of me, you did. I walk out into the lobby and I see your bags still here and you've left." The older women sighed, wiping worried sweat from her aged and wrinkled forehead. "Thought you'd be _long_ gone, and I'd never catch up with a young thing like you, then you'd realize and have to come back and be late for your big day."

Bringing out the forgotten bag, Nano took it politely from her aunt giggling to herself for her stupidity, and feeling ever more thankful for her extended families continuing generosity with her. Nano was often plagued with confusion as to why the rest of the Carbery clan spoke little or unkindly of her aunt and uncle, they had treated the young woman as one of their own daughters, since her arrival on the Citadel some months previous. Perhaps, Nano thought meekly, it was simply because the couple had built a comfortable life for themselves and prospered. More often than not most dislike and hatred is built upon some form of jealous. Either way, Nano felt warmth of pride that the chance had been offered for her to learn more about this small welcoming part of her kin.

"Now don't go being late, hear me! Makes a _bad_ impression and once that first impressions made---"

"I know. It '_can rarely be undone'_."

"Yes. So don't go getting known for being at the _right places at the wrong time_." The older women fussed over Nano's hair for a moment then kissed a pale freckled cheek. "We're all dreadfully proud of you girl. Now go make everybody else proud of you to."

"Thanks. For everything." Nano returned the kiss to her aunt, feeling a bristling of tears spike at her eyes. "I'll come back and visit as soon as I'm on leave."

Nano tossed the small bag of belongings over her shoulder, taking a deep breath, she pivoted back around and began marching triumphantly away from her aunt, hoping somewhere on her birth planet her parents and siblings were wishing similar revelations of good will. Not more than three or four steps into her parade, however, the amused reverberation of her aunt's cackling laughter filled the young women's ears, now a strong colour of puce red as if aware of some humiliation her intellect wasn't, forcing her to pause and turn on her heels.

"You're going the wrong way girl!" Her aunt continued to cackle wildly.

Blushing with embarrassment Nano quickly turned and hurried away, from her aunt's laughter, streaking an aura of shame in her path.

________________________

"I hope you didn't expect a moment or two to _yourself_." The turian councillor peered over his desk, flaring his mandibles with mild annoyance. "A Spectre is on duty _every second_ of their life. Being a Spectre is not all the _prestige, glamour_ and _power_ you might think it is. There is a great responsibility of _trust_ upon your shoulders. It is a burden, no doubt about that, one that _some_ Spectres cannot handle."

"Like Saren perhaps."

"Saren…" There was a long pause of disgust, the old turian sitting up a little straighter, at the mentioning of the ex-Spectre's name. "Saren has tainted the honour of the Turian Hierarchy with his _sedition_. I doubt you'll do anything to repair the damage he did."

The councillor continued watching his guest with a penetrating stare, yet, the old turian found only a calmly returned gaze searching him right back. It was disconcerting to say the least, particularly, as the councillors only wish for the time being was to put his younger fellow back into the lower pecking order where he belonged.

Too much time around those manipulative humans had obliviously polluted this one beyond repair, the older male fumed quietly, there was a complete lack of turian respect in his gaze that made the councillor burn on the inside. It was turians like his guest that created an impression of weak, feeble mindedness for the entire species and worse, made rippling changes in the hierarchy's perfection. Idealists, the older turian frowned on the inside wishing he could find a good reason for the death penalty, or at least long, hard, degrading service in a mine to wipe that look of distilled clarity from the impressionable whelp.

"I did not want to invite you into the Spectres." He watched the other more viciously, a desperation was starting to grow in him, to make the man in the opposite seat crack, twitch, blink anything. "_I denied you_. However, the other councillors out voted me. You had the recommendation of that _human_, a tarnishing stain on your character in my opinion. Your _old superiors_ didn't have much good to say about you."

The older male snorted fiercely, with the air of a man who knows he is superior in every way, and began typing at his computer-bringing up a file which he scanned meticulously and read allowed like the final testimony at a legal presiding.

"_Insubordinate_… _unorthodox_ in dealings… _rule breaker_… uses _excessive_ force… _questionable_ interrogation practices… " Clicking off the workstations screen he turned back to his associate, clasping his hands with triumph. "Not what _I_ would call Spectre material."

"With all due respect sir, that sounds_ exactly_ like Spectre material. I think I sound rather… what is that human phrase… 'Badass'?"

The councillor's mandibles flared a few times listening to his guest's repartee, eyes narrowed and deadly, before resting comfortably again. Realizing his defeat for this skirmish, as those calm probing blue eyes stared back at him naively, the councillor considered his chances of winning the war and decided to continue with the real reason his visitor was summoned to his heels.

"The council has a mission for you. _A nice dangerous one_. You'll need a ship; the councils temporarily assigned the Hierarchy III for your disposal. It's a small Frigate, not as luxurious as you're used to but," he looked his younger counterpart up and down with distain, "It should suit _you_ fine." Eying his opposition darkly he continued with newly ignited malice. "You'll have three ground troops on board and a modest crew. A Lieutenant-Commander Ioik is currently the XO onboard. I'll warn you, she… wait I'd rather let you find out yourself." The old turian grinned with a child like evil. "The Lieutenant-Commander will do whatever you order, but the ship and the crew are her responsibility. Any questions Vakarian?"

Garrus Vakarian, newly appointed Spectre, straightened in his seat fully.

"What's the mission?"

"I'm glad you asked." There was something dangerous and amused in the old turian councillor's voice that made Garrus feel somewhat uneasy.

_______________________________

Nano, bag gripped despondently in both hands now, peered around the C-sec academy looking fervently for the lift to the Docks. A fog of despair was beginning to outline a physical representative, ensuing the young women, and contemplated whether or not the newly forming sentience should apply for its own office at the citadel embassy. She had already mistaken the lift to the Garage's for the one she needed, though not all was lost. A nice young human officer, Eddie Lang Nano considered with girlish merriment, had all but forced his contact details on her and requested her presence for an evening rendezvous. She'd had to refuse, of course, but it still put an extra skip in her step and a little more height in her posture, though she still wondered what a 'rendezvous' actually was, perhaps an alien cuisine, the young human considered.

Swinging her small, bulky, bag over her shoulder once more she spun around on the spot looking up at the never-ending ceiling and growing increasingly dizzy with each rotation, relishing the light headed sensation that numbed the distress the morning was bringing to the party, like a keg of cheap booze. Amazing that the building had all but been destroyed, from Sovereigns attack, but six months earlier and already it was in full working order and teeming with streams of life. The power of industry was certainly—

"Ow!"

Nano paused her swinging suddenly, realizing, her bag had smacked an unsuspecting pedestrian square in the face. Spinning to face the guiltless victim, wide eyed and subservient, Nano froze as she stared up at the towering krogan, rubbing his head viciously. The personified fog of despair retreated, out of the potential crime scene, with haste.

"I am _so_—"

"Save it kid." The krogan glared down at the young woman, an insanity in his eyes scarcely under control, but thought better of starting a fight in the middle of the C-sec academy. He could already feel the eyes trained on his location and sense the movements en route to weaponry. Pushing her to the side lightly the krogan continued on his course muttering insults directed at the human race in general and deliberated bleakly of paying a visit to Chora's Den, having some drinks, watching the dancers and starting an old fashion brawl simultaneously.

Nano waited for the krogan to shuffle completely out of sight before she allowed herself to intake breath once more. It was then that Chellick, a turian C-sec detective, made his way towards the young woman, having watched her collision with the krogan wearily. Tapping the human females armoured shoulder, lightly with a talon, the detective used his best customer service portrayal.

"Lost?" he queried.

"Uh… kind of. I'm looking for the lift to the Docks."

"You mean the one you're standing in front of?" An amused tone reached the turian's voice as he pointed at the huge towering pillar they were standing next to.

Nano slapped her forehead with her palm gaining the response of subdued laughter from Chellick. Coupled with the harmonic tones in his voice, which made his quiet laughter sound somewhat like demonic sirens, and the krogan incident Nano was beginning to feel more on edge with aliens at this exact instant in time than her four months on the station had managed to accumulate all together. The young woman was already pondering forgetting the job, and the hour of morning, and getting a number of stiff drinks into her bodily systems.

"The entrance is around the opposite side." As an after thought Chellick decided to offer a refrain from the obvious distress the human female was in and added, "Its easy enough to miss on your first visit to C-sec. This is your first visit?"

"Well… yes! Of course! I'm not a criminal!" The woman outburst, met with more laughter from Chellick.

"I'm glad to hear. Good luck in finding your way!" The detective nodded agreeably, feeling comfortably reassured this ticking time bomb was defused safely and on the move away from his jurisdiction. If nothing else, he was pleased to note, his attempts at human humour was finally beginning to graft correctly.

"Uh… thanks." Nano, waved a hand briefly to the detective before skulking around the side of the elevator, feeling somewhat deflated from her initial wonder of the place. At least her, first day on the job, anxiety was subsiding she considered entering the lift and hitting a button labelled "Docking bay 19". At that moment another turian gracefully strode into the lift, briefly glancing away from his file of papers to check the next stop and planting himself to the side of the human female efficiently.

The doors slid shut, slow and monotonously as the elevator began its ascent, its tedious background music reminiscent of a computers personal shower concert. Nano rocked on her heels back and forth slowly, staring at the blurred view outside, there wasn't much to see apart from the C-sec generic grey walls.

A lacklustre expression faded onto her face, as the lift hovered onward like an unappreciated thespian, her pupils sliding side long leisurely inching towards the turian reading his papers diligently. He seemed blissfully unaware of her presence, though not entirely, as Nano found when his eyes darted side long at hers in response to her staring.

She looked away instinctively, from her innocent curiosity, back at the blurred view; the docks were coming into sight now passing one after the other in a repetitive rhythm. It was impressive to see all those multicoloured interstellar ships, floating miraculously on their magnetic leashes, but after Docking bay 10 the young human female found her eyes tracing their way back to peer at the turian like a circus spectacle.

His blue clan face paint and bright orange optical interface did bring visions of a suspect clown, at a cheap children's party, to the forefront of Nano's mind forcing her to stifle a guffaw.

The turian male made what could only be described as a coughing sound and adjusted his standing position to favour his opposite foot, facing ever so slightly, away from the human woman. _I wonder what he's reading_; Nano contemplated boredly, paying no attention to the turian male's subtle hints, trying to catch a glimpse of printed writing.

As if on cue the turian slid the papers, with a tender rustle considered incapable with talon fingers by most species, back into the folder they rested upon and turned briefly to look at Nano. She looked away again, feeling as if mother had caught her with her hands in the cookie jar, this time to give great deliberation to something fascinating on the bare ceiling.

The door hissed open breathlessly, as if to say "_Tadaa_" to its disinterested occupants, the turian's distinctive taloned footsteps echoing out of the lift. Looking back down Nano sighed with relief before realizing they were at her stop and the elevator, vexed at its dwellers lack of animated thrill, doors were closing unsympathetically. The young woman dashed towards the shrinking gap and threw herself violently from the lift, in an act of desperation to escape the mind-numbing elevator voyage, almost losing her bag to the spiteful doors and paused awestruck at the expanse of vessels docked at bay 19.

"How the _hell_ am I going to find my ship!"

________________________________

Garrus stepped thoughtfully onto the command deck of his temporary ship noting everything worth paying mind, and blocking everything else like a bad hangover memory. It was cramped and smelt a bit like an amalgamation of different species sweat and pheromones, but not all to unpleasant.

He had seen far worse specimens when, working as an agent in C-sec, searching criminal vessels for evidence or useful information. The turian looked about soundlessly, and bewildered, at his 'modest crew'; a single salarian tapping furiously at a terminal appeared to be the only other being on the command deck and its vicinity. Garrus approached him slowly still clutching his folder of papers and turned his optical interface on in order to look impressive to the salarian, whose species tended to get hypnotised by rapid moving numbers and bright colours.

"I'm looking for the XO on board, Lieutenant-Commander Ioik."

"_Busy_." The salarian responded without hesitation.

Garrus looked at the salarian with a puzzled gaze deciding to try an alternative route to get the information he wanted.

"I don't think you understand. I'm the Spectre, Garrus Vakarian, in charge of this ship."

The salarian stopped his frantic tapping, peering up from his console in a slow deliberate motion and instantly began to shake at the sight of the turian, though the bright colours and speeding numbers did catch his mesmerized attention for a second of ADHD lucidity.

"Oh… oh… um… oh … uh…." The salarian's eyes grew unreasonably larger, threatening to consume the last of his face, with fear stuttering over sounds and unformed words.

"Your commanding officer, where is she?" Garrus tried again, wondering for a moment if the salarian would simply transform into a pair of eyeballs on a stick shaped neck, bemused and proud that a simple mentioning of his name and rank could bring someone to such panic.

Behind Garrus there was a slow intake of mechanical sounding air followed by an intrigued muffled voice.

"The Lieutenant-Commander is not here."

Garrus twisted around to see the ethereal voice, however, not seeing anybody on direct eye level the Spectre let his gaze drop unbelieving downwards till a volus, barely four foot in height, came into view. The turian was somewhat more astonished when he realized this was a member of the Hierarchy IIIs crew, a Citadel Military badge stuck accusingly on the pokey volus' encounter suit.

"When will the XO return?"

There was another intake of harsh artificial breath from the volus followed by his dispassionate words.

"I do not know. She was called away on an emergency."

"Whose in charge for the time being?" Garrus watched as the volus sauntered passed him, a man about business, and pointed a stubby arm towards the trembling salarian.

"2nd Lieutenant Karaten. Strangers make him nervous." The volus patted the salarian's waist, reassuring his superior paternally, and in took air once more continuing impassively towards his destination.

Garrus watched the volus progress away before looking upward at the contrasting salarian, standing roughly twice the height of the volus and a little above himself, whose nerves were beginning to settle with the stranger on board his ship. The turian was about to attempt opening communications with the Lieutenant again when he heard a series of bizarre, worrying, sounds.

Glimpsing down, at the latticed metal floor, he saw through the gaps what appeared to be a turian thrashing and moaning as two others, another turian and possibly a human, carried him through the lower deck walkway. The curiosity of the ex-c-sec officer, got the better of him, forcing him impulsively to make his way down to the lower floor and through the confined corridor he'd seen from above in such modest detail.

The sound of alarmed muffled voices, the turian's moaning, and what could only be described as a container of Clangers being dropped, led the ex-c-sec investigator like a proud bloodhound in a hunting party to the Med lab entrance. Pressing the door release the Spectre hurried inside eager to solve this mystery, like the human novels he guiltily read in secret, only to be confronted by a strange sight of flailing jumbled body parts, oddly reminiscent of a vid he'd accidentally rented out on interspecies mating methods.

The wailing turian was being forcefully held down by the two who had carried him in whilst a, large human male, Doctor attempted to inject him with an unidentified substance.

"_Hold_ his head still! I can't get the _damn_ needle in if he keeps trying to _bite_ me!" The Doctor looked clearly frustrated; the other turian present managing to force his fellows head down onto the bed whilst maintaining the grip, on his share, of flailing arms with the opposite hand.

"What is going on here?" Garrus called out.

The third member of the struggling orgy, the one the Spectre had suspected of being a human, suddenly looked directly at him bewildered and furious at his presence.

"Who are you!" The woman barked like an angry order.

The Spectre was momentarily stunned by the woman's response to his perfectly reasonable question before he realized something was not right about the woman who stared at him. There was a general human look about her, but also something alien he couldn't quite put his talons on. It took Garrus a couple of seconds, for his gut to move up and clout his brain in the stupid corner of his mind, to click that the eyes he was gawping into were not human eyes; they were a turian blue like his own.

"I _got_ him!" The Doctor exclaimed pulling a syringe out from the soft spot under the turian patients chin. "You can let go, he should be out like a light in a few seconds."

A numb feeling suddenly swept over the Spectre, giving him the sensation of falling out of a warm comfy bed for longer than should be expected, he found his legs taking full control of his body marching him out of the relieved room and depositing him against a nearby wall. Garrus' brain hit melt down, rather than think logically, for a moment as it attempted to process what he'd just seen. It couldn't be as he mulled over confounded, a shocked disgusted feeling he couldn't place welled upwards in his stomach, and for a moment he thought he might vomit or simply pop out of existence.


	2. Chapter 2 Debriefing

**Chapter 2 Debriefing**

"Is he going to be alright?"

The old Doctor dropped the used syringe into the disposal unit on the sidewall and turned to look at his commanding officer. A grand juvenile laugh, which always reminded the XO of the Santa Claus vids her mother, forced her to watch every Christmas, emitted from the aged Caribbean Doctor.

"The Corporal just needs to sleep it off. Though, the toxins he ingested won't do his immune system any good for a few weeks. I'll have to give him sick leave from any ground missions for at least eight days."

"Do you have any idea what he took this time?"

"From what I can t_ell_, looks like Lobe dust."

"Lobe dust? Not heard of that one."

"It's an _old_ drug, the salarian's were originally developing it to give their operatives temporary psychic abilities. The council banned its use over _five hundred_ years ago, but its been popping up in the recreational drug sector on and off ever since. Never seen a turian s_tupid_ enough to use it though."

There was a disgruntled groan from the conscience turian in the room, all eyes on his location as if he were on fire. His arms folded defensively across his chest, as if to prevent himself from exasperated actions, as he watched his comatose subordinate. The younger turian's eyes were dancing violently, under closed lids, as he slept off the drug in his system innocently.

"He's going to be _alright_, Dharam." Ioik, sincerely reassured her companion, forcing her words into a turian dialect in order to protect the old soldiers sense of pride. A subtle hand, meant to comfort, sneaked its way passed the turians defences and rested upon a tense shoulder.

There was a reluctant nod of agreement from the older turian, his thoughts lost within a sea of another's tomfoolery, gesturing his head away to glance at the well-intentioned hand violating his personal space.

The turian male was at an age where change in ideals did not come easy, tagging along the feeling of succumbing to the enemy. Even after the years working with one another, most of which under his command as fellow soldiers on the ground force team, Dharam still found their interactions puzzling. The problem wasn't as simple as not getting along, quite the opposite, but finding mutual ground between customs. Was the woman a turian or a human, both felt unacceptable, much like putting a tomato in the fruit bowl then serving it as a soup starter. Every time his mind was adjusted to a turian presence she would do something human, like violate his private space, when it was reasserted to human company she would articulate in his tongue and complain about the cold. The issue created awkward tension, and on occasion hilarity, Dharam could rarely decide when to scold, accept or simply allow a gesture to slide out an airlock. It annoyed him, much like the idea of being an old relic, but a greater part relished in the intellectual stimulation that the relationship brought with it like strategy in war.

Alongside the awkward companions, the Doctor took his chance to clean up the mess caused by the flailing Corporal. A trey, some containers and a selection of medical instruments were scattered around the floor and concealed mischievously under the examination beds.

There was a silent pause, in which eyes locked and a hand was retrieved, before the commanding officer continued.

"It's the _next_ time that bothers me."

"I agree." Dharam sighed reflectively. "His recreational curiosity is becoming a _problem_. I had to cut lunch with my spouse short in order to rescue him from Chora's den."

"I didn't realize you were with Venor when I called. I would have brought someone else."

"Someone else you know with skin resistant to turian teeth?" The older Turian emitted a short deep snigger bringing a smile to his commander's eyes.

"What I'd _really_ like to know," returning to standard Galactic the woman turned to look at the Doctor, crouching stiff and curiously under a bed, trying to retrieve a vial. "Is what _you_ were doing at Chora's Den, Omari?"

The Doctors head bounded upwards and collided suddenly with the bottom of the examination cot followed by curses, in an eclectic arrangement of languages, as he arose slow and unsure footed. Standing, with a look of pained defiance, the old human dumped the vial clutched between his fingers on top of his desk only to watch as it rolled spitefully back to the floor as he rubbed the top of his bruised head. Sighing at the futility of artificial gravity, aging bodies and the current topic, from which there was the remotest escape, Dr. Omari Anguilla Harrigan turned to face the music he had hoped none would play.

"I think we _all _know what I was _doing_ there. Saving a patient and paying a booty call." The Doctor flailed a hand, unimportantly, signalling he would answer no more prying questions.

"Booty call?" Dharam looked towards his commanding officer, with an intrigued and quizzical look, hoping her human experience would know better than his second-hand study.

The half-human merely shrugged, embarrassed at her inadequate knowledge, in response and returned the turians gaze. Watching the pair's mystified reaction the Doctor felt a victorious amusement, followed by heartfelt laughter, that shook his rounded tummy as if full of jelly and other jiggling things. It was with that, the old Caribbean human, managed to surgically remove himself from suspicion.

As with most of the Doctors moments of joviality, which Dharam often feigned understanding, the old soldier allowed his thoughts to assemble tactically rather than wait for subconscious dreams at the end of the day. A survival instinct he practiced with the utmost diligence. It was more efficient to do the job now than wait for a later whose continued existence, most probably, depended on a forgotten detail of an earlier instance.

Amongst these recollections a forgotten loose end suddenly became apparent, causing the turian to stand to attention as if stricken by an order, his memories now vocalised occupied with a sense of urgency.

"That _turian_, the one who entered a moment ago, were we _expecting_ him on board?"

There was a, swift purposeful, pause from the XO as she searched her memory for the afore mentioned turian.

"_Yes_. I _believe_ that was our Spectre." She sighed, realizing; she'd probably be in some form of trouble after yelling at a higher-ranking officer.

Dharam relaxed a minute proportion, now placing his loose end into its correct folder, but could not out of principle manage a complete surrendering of suspicion.

"Spectre means _trouble_." An aggravated mumble sprang forth.

"Failing to carry out _orders_ and _accept_ the Spectre on board means _more_ trouble." The Lieutenant-commander smiled grimly as she walked unwillingly, like a lamb to the slaughter, towards the med lab door. "I better meet and greet."

____________________________________

Nano sprinted, breathlessly, up along docking bay 19 section 8 looking flustered as she past an eclectic arrangement of ships none of which her own. Her lungs ached, with the swift in take of each breath, the young woman's skin and hair moist with perspiration making her feel sticky and dejected. She was supposed to be on board her ship already, settling into her new quarter's and meeting the crew, but it had taken forty-five minutes just to find directions from some unruly looking dockworkers to section 8 of the huge complex.

The young woman's first day out of military academy was not going well by any standards, especially not the militaries high expectations. Nano's aunts words filled her, shocked and numbing, ears, '…_don't go getting known for being at the right places at the wrong time_…" A mist of panic fogged her vision forming into wild imaginings, like dark rain clouds promising doom, as she pelted onwards through a personal onslaught of hell.

_Perhaps_, she thought, _they've already departed without me. Perhaps, they've reported my tardiness and the military have kicked me out._

Other such speculations filled her head, leaving little or no room for concentration, Nano found herself for a brief tranquil moment, hurled up and forwards, suspended in mid air. For that split second she blissfully forgot about everything that was troubling her and allowed an unperturbed smile to wash across her lips, as if her frantic mind was numbed with morphine.

At that exact instant another individual nearby was feeling a similar euphoria, though his mind was rarely troubled by little more than stacking arrangements. He watched as the athletic figure ripped past him in a blaze of fiery red hair, almost dropping the crate in between his arms, before reality hit them both with a wincing _thud_.

Nano hit the sturdy deck; headfirst, and rolled forward a few turns before coming to a sudden, violent stop. She lay perfectly still and crumpled on her back, tangled with her own limbs, her breath creating condensation above her body as the warmth met the cold reaching arms of space.

The human male, who had witnessed the event, encapsulated in an instant of shock let go of his burdening crate with an expensive sounding _crash_ and hurried off to play hero and help his scarlet beauty to her feet.

"Areyou _ok_?" The husky Russian accent seeped inside the woman's ears, like irresistible honey, as she opened her eyes eagerly and looked up at the man crouching beside her.

A blurry vision hovered above her line of sight, pieces of which, coming into perspective and gaining texture. A pair of worried, but determined, brown orbs locked the woman's uncooperative eyes into some stability before releasing them as suddenly from captivity. Nano watched as the, stubbled and lightly tanned, Russian glanced over her body looking for signs of serious injury. A distracted smile washed over the young woman's face as a hand hovered upwards and clung at a tuft of, short, dark and unruly, hair.

"God you're _beautiful_."

The Russian looked taken aback before realizing it was probably a concussion talking. Disentangling her from his unwashed hair, the man knelt closer, sliding both hands under her shoulders and lifting her up gently.

"Lean on me and we'll get you to your feet. Give a yell if anything hurts."

Nano obeyed the honey soaking voice that filled her ears and latched her arms around his neck. Slumping her head forward into his chest, with a sigh, she nuzzled against the Russian taking in his scent.

"Uh-humph!" A particularly disgruntled looking asari appeared, unnoticed, from within the ship.

The man almost dropped his burden, confronted with a similar feeling of getting caught by his mother performing some adolescent dirty deed, or at least thinking about it. Something about the asari's expression told him she knew exactly what filthy manner of thoughts were gracing his mind.

"She fell!"

"And you just had to sexually harass the female in a _fragile state_." One of the asari's boots began to thump the floor violently as she watched him reproachful.

The Russian, in a state of unravelling apprehension, looked down at the awkward position he was caught in and realized his right hand had miraculously slid across the woman's breastplate, cupping a handful.

"My hand slipped!" He hurriedly moved the accused limb elsewhere, walking the wavering woman to a nearby crate and releasing her gently onto it, before moving out of the spotlight of shame created by the asari's disapproving gaze.

The asari grunted, shaking her head in silence, and made her way towards the groaning redhead clutching at her forehead and swaying gently.

"What happened?" The asari squatted purposely, pushing the women's head upwards with little affection, searching into a befuddled emerald gaze.

"She was running along the dock and tripped over the Engineers driver coil."

"So that's where that got to." The asari moved a single finger left and right in front of Nano's eyes, checking her reactions were right, before continuing. "Do you know _who_ and _where_ you are?"

"Uh… I'm definitely still _me_ and I'm definitely still _here_. My head hurts to much to be anyone else anywhere else."

The asari felt a smile brush her lips at the woman's response, but it was gone to quickly for anybody to notice.

"Its not concussion. Just a bump." She concluded and stood, pushing the hovering Russian a few paces away from his hearts, well one of his organs at least, desire, picking up a crate and getting back to work.

"That's reassuring." The Russian sighed. "Are you sure we shouldn't bring her on board and _examine_ her?"

The asari stared at the human male darkly; the man had a suspicion his thoughts of exploring the woman personally were in plain view to her and not appreciated. It was moments like these, he considered, he felt he could understand what having a mother was like. Though, he could never say such a thing to his associate, without the fear of retaliation, she was many times his senior from what little he knew but would probably take his opinion as insulting as was frequently the case.

"_She'll live_. I'm sure she has somewhere more _important_ to continue _scurrying_ towards."

"OH!"

The asari and the human both started at the sound of the woman's exclamation, as if some prehistoric predator were close on their trails, and turned in unison to regard her bout of energy.

"I need to get to my ship! I'm late!" Nano bounded upwards, latching onto her bag with one quick stroke, and hopped to a restless pause in between the pair. "I don't suppose either of you knows where I can find the Hierarchy III?"

Both asari and Russian stared at one another, for once the same look upon their faces, in un-amused mutual bewilderment.

"Is she being serious?"

The man shrugged in response and turned to Nano, silently, raising a hand upwards to the ten-foot letters that spelt "_Hierarchy III_" on the side of their ship.

"Oh _douche ba_- Ow!" Nano exclaimed, smacking her bruised forehead with the palm of her hand, before fighting back both relieved and pained tears.

________________________________________________

The door hissed beside Garrus and a woman, Lieutenant-Commander Ioik, stepped out in front of him. She paused and looked at him, for the briefest of moments, then moved towards a console on a sidewall.

There was no doubt, about what his mind told him was not possible, his eyes scanned her form cataloguing her like information. The body was turian in design, tall, wide hipped and gated leading up a tight waist to a slight human torso. The shoulders were a little broader, than any human female he'd seen, and he noticed a short spine poking out from her elbows not unlike the one that stuck out from his calves.

The Spectre attempted to get a closer look at her face, whilst trying not to alert her to his information gathering, and pivoted a little forward pretending to check a loose piece of armour on his right leg. The face was the most strikingly meshed of the two species attributes, a general human shape with a small flat-ridged nose. The ears were definitely of a turian design, though, there seemed little of a sound chitin structure leaving a big weakness to bare skin. The top of her head was covered in human hair, short and peach blond contrasting with her light mahogany skin, and a metallic plume on either side of her ears emerged from under the wiry mane.

The XO sighed despondently and struck a button on the console, she had retreated to rather than make second contact with the bewildered Spectre, with the side of a closed fist. Hearing the inter-com', surprised and submissive, _beep_ in response to her violence she began her address to the ships crew.

"This is Lieutenant-Commander Ioik, I need all crew members to report to the mess hall in forty-five minutes for a debriefing. I also _expect _my cargo onboard and packed away before the docking warden saddles me with _another_ health and safety violation."

The woman struck the button again, hearing the inter-com _beep_ a cry of pain, junctioning to look at the Spectre as if he were an abnormal after thought. She motioned closer to the new turian, feeling somewhat queasy at the prospect of good relations after having just chastised the authoritative figure, and stuck a four-fingered hand out to shake.

"I'm Lieutenant-Commander Toriamos Ioik, of Citadel military, in charge of this frigate. The crew generally refers to me as Tori, but which ever you prefer."

Garrus took a moment to stare perversely at the pre-offered hand; the talon's at the end of her human fingers short and claw like in contrast to his own. The Spectre battled with his instinctive urge to recoil, there was something truly alien about the half-breed, an estrangement that he'd never experienced before even when surrounded by true foreign species swam along his veins incurably. It felt to the Spectre that this, Toriamos Ioik, represented a worrying future possibility for his species and yet he found his body take over once more, reaching out to the hand and shaking it for the briefest possible instance. The skin he'd made contact with was thick and harder than a human's, but no way in comparison to the toughness of his own, with a warm soft sensation.

"Garrus Vakarian, Spectre."

Tori eyed the discontented man, keeping her features expressionless of her true thoughts, and nodded agreeably to the turians reply. She always dreaded meeting new humans and turians, or any other species for that matter; their reactions towards her were more often than not of disgust, pity or anger.

_At least he shook my hand_, she pondered, _there might be hope for this one._ A soft smile traced her lips, out of the turians-probing gaze, as the XO turned signalling a hand for the Spectre to follow.

"I'll show you to your quarters and let you get settled. As you no-doubt heard, I've scheduled a meeting with the crew in forty minutes. Any questions you have about the ship or the crew I'll be happy to answer you now."

They walked, in preoccupied amity, along a nonspecific cramped corridor and up a flight of stairs to the above level. The newly fledged Spectre was unable to keep his thoughts entirely on questions he _needed _to ask her, only the ones he wanted to, but there very utterance would be far boorish than he believed himself capable. Thus, he responded to the situation civilly by walking in silence, their dull periodic footsteps were the only sound to break the ice between one another.

"This is the mess hall." The Lieutenant-Commander hammered another console impartially, administered with the side of a tensed paw, forcing illumination into the room. "We typically hold debriefings, staff meetings and social events in here. If you haven't seen it already; the command centre simply isn't suitable for more than five or six individuals at once. This is, fundamentally, the biggest space we have."

It was small, a reoccurring mechanic of the frigates general scheme, the largest object a five-seater table possessing the room miraculously surrounded by ten chairs. On the east side of the space was a cosy looking area with a couple of comfy sitting places, a rug and a few pillows on the floor, worn but noticeably cared for fondly. A shelf of books, OSD disks no-doubt containing vids, along with a sorry looking cactus plant wearing a sombrero and sunglasses, and a jumble of severely warn board games graced a corner like a pokey eyesore. The walls themselves were smeared thick with a miss-mash of posters the crew had collected from places they had visited; a large notice board, covering most of the northern wall, stuck out amongst the vibrant colours plied with a mixture of important notices, trivial fliers and the odd crude scribbling. It was homely, Garrus had to admit, but chaotic.

"Its best you know now before you make a mistake and call the Engineer. You need to thump some of the wall consoles around here. There has been an issue with the sensitivity since the Hierarchy III was built seven years ago. The Military doesn't think it's worth sending the repair teams to re-fit the entire set-up when we can still make them work with a good smack."

Garrus felt a rise of amusement at the bureaucracy._ Perhaps even the Citadel fleet suffers the same noose of idiocy C-sec does_, he mused blissfully.

"Over there," the XO pointed, at a mysterious door, behind the table and chairs, "is the kitchen. Left sides for dextro-amino, right sides levo-amino, if you ever feel the need to eat on the chef's off hours."

The Lieutenant-Commander moved back towards the exit, a purposefulness to her steps that tugged at the Spectre's free will as if awakening an old instinct that needed performance, waiting for the turian to pass her before beating on the light switch firmly to end a minor electricity bill. She continued down the, mind numbingly monotonous, corridor and turned right into another of its kin lined with doors five feet between the last.

"Crew quarters. Joint bathroom." The woman waved a hand dismissively at the spectacle before turning back on herself, dodging an unsuspecting Spectre with cool ease, and taking the left route this time to a singular door hidden away in an alcove.

Gently pressing the entry release she stepped inside the large room followed, inquisitive at the prospect of a mysterious area, by her eager lapdog. It was roughly the same size as the mess hall; a sizeable bed to the far end, a small table and chair in the centre and two desks lined the wall in an L shape.

"This _used_ to be the old Commanding officers quarters and office. It has a private shower room over there."

Garrus peered around the room as if on recognisance or valuing a recently vacated premise for resale; it was orderly, sparse and efficient. He liked it, as much as he could bring himself to _appreciate_ his overpriced apartment on the citadel, already.

"Why haven't you taken it?"

"I prefer the smaller rooms."

This seemed like a highly doubtful response to the Spectre; nobody, with more than two brain cells to rub together, would turn down a luxurious room on a second rate frigate, they were forced on board, with working consoles, a private shower and _air conditioning_. The Ex-C-sec officer felt himself swiftly become suspicious of the room, as if it would ply him with drugs take pictures of his inebriation and sell them on the extranet for cookies, unable to prevent his instinctive urge to search its nooks and crannies for deformities with his trained gaze. On the other taloned paw, _I don't expect I'll be staying in this place long enough to inadvertently find its flaws_, he concluded as he tossed his folder of files onto a desk.

_______________________________________

Hauling up a cargo container, between anxious and tired hands, the asari placed the last of the ships supplies with its fellow peers. The storage bay was now crammed full barely leaving any room, through which, to manoeuvre the treacherous hills of weighty boxes.

Stepping away from the towering crates she dusted herself vigorously, returning the dark uniform to a presentable state, and groaned irritated at a scuff on the side of a boot before striding the lengthy bay to its uncomfortably wide opening. Keying the command to close the vessels extensive wound that was the bay doors, she watched her surroundings turn into gloomy darkness, as they stole the last of the space stations synthetic light from her crystal clear eyes. An overwhelming sense of loneliness suddenly filled the asari, the overflow attempting to push out her other sentiments, as she heard the emotionless hiss of the hydraulics sealing her impenetrable within the ship.

Perhaps it was because she really was alone down there, surrounded by non-sentient goods with even less general concern than herself, no other beings neighbouring her with their sentimental aura. For a moment the asari felt an unusual longing for the human boy, as it contented her to refer to him, to hastily return back to her company and hassle her with his bothersome banter.

The human child had fled, leaving her alone to finish _their_ work, as soon as a ship wide broadcast had emitted from the small frigate warning of the possibility a disgruntled commanding officer might in still punishment to whom ever was found near by the unpacked crates. He had snuck away on the pretence of guiding a lightly bruised human female officer, another child for the boy to play with, to the ships Doctor. Wherever he had _really_ taken the young women, the malcontent asari was sure, she did not _want_ to know or even imagine.

Shaking her head, at her own discontented thoughts, she paced in between the maze of crates that cluttered the considerable space followed unwilling by her own echoing footsteps. It was almost as if the ship was attempting to console, the gnawing ache the asari felt, mimicking her steps like speech and wrapping her in its cold metallic shadows. She paused, bringing her vessels words into silence, and sighed looking slowly upwards trailing the unprejudiced runs of a ladder.

"Do you join their civilization again or no?" She whispered softly, though not softly enough, the cold walls repeating her utterance irritatingly softer. "Oh shut up! I'm going already."

The asari snorted devilishly and began to climb the ladder upwards, an annoyed rage building inside her like a pyre filling with kindling building with every run, pulling herself onto the next level and sliding the previously opened trap door shut below. The grey corridor she now stood in was just as empty as the storage bay, a frustration ensued the asari sparking flame at the kindling she wrapped herself with, the people she tended to seek isolation from were for once quarantining themselves from her and she couldn't help but miss their troublesome company.

A few minutes later, having had time to vent some anger on insensitive light switches along the way, the asari stomped onto the command deck with an impatient frown. Lieutenant Karaten was busy energetically prodding his console, as he had nothing more interesting to prod, equating complex navigational mathematics as habitual. The salarian was too engrossed with his work to pay the asari any mind, not that she cared whether or not his interests spanned in her direction; someone else in the room had caught her attention absolutely like a sweet sticky substance to a fictional bear.

Her heavy footsteps became steadily soft and lighter as she moved closer, all un-pleasantry evaporating out of her eyes and rising with soft enthused warmth, an expectant tender hand glided over the top of an encounter suits helmet. The occupant inclined the enclosed head into the asari's eager palm, brushing against one another's spirit as only lovers can, envisioning that through the hard cold layers her touch was felt and all consuming.

"Anyaba." The volus lightly inhaled metallic air.

"Dorlan."

The asari slid proficiently into the pilots seat next to her comm. officer and began checking the vessels systems, a new air of calm breezing through her body and radiating against the closest aura, working methodically in silence.

______________________________________________

Dharam continued to watch his unconscious subordinate, with a paternal air, daring him to rouse and face some particularly unpleasant variety of wrath. The experienced male, after great deliberation over the years, had long ago decided the younger turian's loose recreational morals had there foundations based from the lack of a male role model guiding and shaping him as a youth. Today, this bewildering strain of moment, was not the first that he found his professional visor slide from his grasp revealing a deeper caring for his youthful friend and comrade. A consideration that went, a little uncomfortably, beyond the pride and honour that ought to connect the unit.

"My father was right, having children does make you an old man." Dharam concluded his internal dispute.

"No wonder I never grew up then."

The turian stared side long at the Doctor before realizing he had spoken his own thoughts, out loud and despairingly, and got an answer from the greying human fiddling with some infectious looking vials and liquids. Dharam shook his head, as if throwing off the literal spirit of his unit nagging at him vivaciously, with a low and quiet chuckle.

"How is the wife and brood?"

"Busy." Dharam nodded. "The boys are still small, noisy and illogical. I look forward to when they are a little more grown and able to understand."

"Ah, but they grow up quicker than you expect, spread wings and leave."

"Turian's do _not _have wings."

Omari suddenly burst out laughing, enjoying every moment of his associate' innocent misunderstandings, taking sometime to quieten down and catch his breath before he could explain himself to the agitated turian.

"It was a metaphor, Dharam."

"Oh." Dharam, not as surprised as the Doctor hoped he would be, thought the sentence through again in his head then translated into wording he could comprehend. "I see what you mean. My two sons will grow, develop their skills and join the turian military before I have taught them everything I have planned."

"Sounds to me you're a little plan _crazy_."

"Not in the least. I merely wish to bring structure an-"

A hissing sound emitted by the med lab door, followed by enthusiastic laughter from two human's ready to crack their own ribs, caught the two men by surprise. Both craned their necks fast enough to cause whiplash to watch the human couple clamber through the opening, clutching at one another playfully, eyes streaming from giggle fits.

Dharam's right arm was already reached around his back, instinctively stroking the length of his assault rifle with a deprived caress, as he glared at the second stranger of the day on his ship; calculating the odds of her abilities against his own.

___________________________________________

In the little mess hall, under the garish fluorescent lights, Lieutenant-Commander Ioik sat at the logic-defying table rereading the report sent to her by citadel military headquarters. There was a thick stuffy quality to the air surrounding the distracted woman, threatening malignantly to suffocate as if a toothless vampire, pestering her senses like a well placed detonation of sulphur and ringing bells. She wafted a free hand through the air, as if trying to fight off a horde of tooth faeries, stirring the thick climate to no avail as rebellious thoughts began to fill her unwilling mind.

_I hope the Spectre appreciates the working air purifiers in his office; _Tori paused her agitated reading in order to give a distant console, flashing the universal red light of warning, a thorough glare of annoyance. The XO felt strongly that the grieving vessel had some bitter vendetta against her, most notably when it pulled pranks like switching between scolding hot and ice cold water during only _her_ shower encounters and deleting her personal files, perhaps because of her inexperience or initial unwillingness to take command after the superior officers deaths. Things felt simpler back in the days when she was just a Lieutenant, times now feed for nostalgia once unfavourably looked upon as well, following regimented assignments and always having someone else to look up to in times of jeopardy.

'_Things that stay the same get stale and boring…'_, Tori listened to her mothers advice, on mental playback, wondering defiantly if _boring_ might still be the improved choice when compared to moments of insanity like having hour long arguments with a non-sentient spaceship. It had crossed the XO's mind, on several exasperated occasions, that the Hierarchy III might be half or perhaps just a particularly slow Reaper in disguise. However, that would purely be too convenient an explanation, especially in the kind of universe that allows blue human male sexual fantasies to exist, and whole-heartedly unbelievable at her court-martial if she were to finally send the mutinous frigate direct to human _hell_.

Scanning through the uniformed documents, using a sharp digit to discern one line from another like a pre-school child, her right hand snuck away before returning in order to direct something that looked suspiciously like a sickly orange prawn cracker to her mouth; with a satisfactory _crunch_. It wasn't long until other members of the crew, each annoyed they were not the last to arrive, began appearing for the pre-arranged briefing. Amongst the beginning populous slid Garrus Vakarian, eyes in a constant twitching motion attempting to put names to faces, into a fuse of chatting companions all waiting for something interesting to happen. The Spectre, now mildly irritated at the sheer stubborn thickness to the air, found himself a vacant seat along the middle of the table whilst they waited for the last of the crew to assemble and settle down.

The XO looked up at the turian, noticing a hint of well-concealed nervousness, and grinned inwardly. She pushed the plate of cracker things towards him unceremoniously and nodded, attempting to coerce the Spectre with treats, before returning to her mundane reading.

"My mother has a saying, '…_never go to battle on an empty stomach_…'"

Garrus looked at the plate, flaring his mandibles as he pondered the prospect of poisoning, and instantly recognised the morsels as a type of turian biscuit he despised as a child. Not wanting to seem rude to the gesture, or the unusual advice it came partnered with, he took one regardless of his past dislike and slipped it elegantly onto his tongue. As he crunched down on the biscuit he was relieved nobody was looking directly at him, eyes overflowing with anguish at the repulsive taste, texture, everything, as the Spectre fought with the urge to upchuck the contents of his maw over the worn metal table. Secretively sliding the napkin out from under the rest of the crackers, like only a C-sec officer with experience in petty theft could, he skilfully dumped the orange mush in his mouth before wrapping and sliding into a slot on his armour for later. That out of the way Garrus found his nerves quietened, or severely distracted by the ordeal of the snack, but his stomach now raged with revolted fury and he felt the urge to find some pebbles.

The crew began filling seats around the table, like an unusual game of musical chairs without music or the desire to actually sit down, the last to arrive were the two salarian crew members wanting to use their time to its fullest efficiency whilst on duty. Karaten took to standing beside the Spectre, as there was a lack of seating now with two extra bodies present, whilst the female Engineer sat in between a disappointed looking asari and an eager human woman she didn't recognize.

Tori looked up, as the noise within the room reached critical, suddenly realizing her crew was entirely present. Folding over the manuscripts binding, that had almost sent her to sleep with its dreary story telling, she stood clearing her throat gently looking for not to much attention.

"Everybody, who can be, is here. Good." The XO began before a young human male, predictably, raised his hand lazily.

"Yes?"

"Could I _not_ be here?" The Russians voice, lubed with flattery and self-assurance, attempted to assault the Lieutenant-commanders will as a single woman but was easily deflected with ignorance. The XO could feel a headache coming on, in more than one way, and decided to simply ignore him before he became a migraine.

"Alright crew, we've been routining Serpent Nebula for the past six months. Headquarters has sent us some new orders _and_ people." Tori inclined her head towards the human female, paying far to much attention for the XO's preferences, and peered at her files moving her lips silently over a list of supplies. "You'll be the new solider we requested. Private Nano Hanora Carbery?"

"That's me!" Nano raised a hand concisely.

"You'll be working with Corporal Pallas Gungnir and Lieutenant Dharam Kshatri."

"Meet me in the Cargo bay below deck afterwards." Dharam nodded.

"I don't suppose they sent the new engineers?"

"I'm afraid no engineers this time, Heranon." The XO tugged at her uniform collar and cleared her throat gently.

"I _can't _keep working in these conditions!" The Engineer fired a fist to the table before instantly recoiling it with a _yelp_.

"I know-"

"_No!_ I don't think you do! There's supposed to be a minimum of three engineers down there and I'm on my own!"

"If you went back to home world you wouldn't be alone." Karaten skilfully sniped the Engineers last nerve, whose eyes lit a blaze with wild vehemence, finding a plate of crackers bowled aimlessly in his direction. After dodging the attack, with unreasonable ease, the salarian male frowned as he grabbed for Garrus' folder of papers and held it above his head ready to hurl.

"Stop that _both_ of you!"

The salarian pair froze, hearing the length of calm scolding in their commanding officers voice, and ceased their aggressions somewhat sluggishly. Neither salarian desired to put their chosen flinging object down first, along with the majority of the room eager to see an amusing scrap, so were in the process of gradual lowering whilst vividly glaring. Something told them, in a loud and undeniable inner tone, their next moves could prove fatal if unchecked, though Karaten could not forcefully banish the smug grin that ravaged his face.

"Thank you." The XO, wishing she was elsewhere, sighed. "I'd appreciate if you two resolved this inconvenient spat for _good_ this time. We cannot keep having these disruptions around the ship."

"Especially when _I'm_ the one who has to clean up after you two!" The Russian added drenched in amusement.

There was a dull mumbling from the pair; whether they were apologizes, insults or threats was inaudible. Tori shrugged, knowing too well this would not be the end, and continued with the rest of the meeting.

"Our orders are to ferry and facilitate any assistance required by the Citadels representative." She inclined her head towards the Spectre. "You are all to follow the representatives orders. _However_, the representative does not carry authority, above myself, in relation to the safety and general management of the ship and its crew. If you are asked to carry out a contradicting order by both of us, you'll complete _my_ command. Is that understood?"

A series of nods and yes sounds quietly reverberated around the room, punctuated by a look of distain originating from the turian Lieutenant thrust at Garrus hoping he would melt away into nothing, as the crew digested the new information. The commanding officer, satisfied with the response, turned the floor over to their new resident Spectre whom stood with a defiant reservation.

"Garrus Vakarian, Spectre." Not one for small talk, because he didn't know how, he dove directly into the heat of things hoping he wouldn't get burnt along the way. "Over the last year, there has been a number of unusual reports from ships passing the adjoining areas between Citadel space and beyond the Perseus veil.

Just over six months ago, before the attack on the Citadel, a number of Geth bases were found in Citadel space and destroyed by Spectre Shepard.

We know the Geth were working with the Reaper, Sovereign, and also appear to worship the synthetic species. With the continuing reports coming from the, afore mentioned, adjacent systems the council has decided to undertake an investigation into the possible threat of an invasion by the Geth.

We are to proceed to the surrounding systems and search for possible bases, fleets _and_ any data we can ascertain from space within the Perseus veil."

"The council wants a small, _lightly_ armed frigate to look for Geth and enter the Perseus Veil _alone_?"

Garrus found his eyes unable to break the lock, however much he mentally gouged his retina, which Dharam had captured him with. The serious authority in the older turians voice, edged with just a dab of venom, made the Spectre feel like a small child. It took all of his willpower, even sheer stupidity came to help, in order to with strain the urge to fidget and hide under the table pistol ready.

"A lone, _small_ vessel is less detectable than a _fleet_."

"I agree with Dharam. Its _suicide_." The asari looked fiercely, folding her arms as if this would strengthen her addition to the conversation, towards her commanding officer.

"There's an _old_ saying my mother once told me." Lieutenant-Commander Ioik, lost in a mysterious cloud of reflection, rested her chin upon her palm supported via an elbow on table. '…_If you have lemons, make a salsa…_'"

"I don't see _any_ salsa in this situation, Tori." Dharam continued. "We go in, look for Geth, and most likely _die_ if they're there. Geth are highly organized in large groups. I would rather face a Krogan army than an unknown Geth fleet."

"Maybe I should give you a psychiatric evaluation because you sound _crazy_." The Doctor chimed in, revelling in his favourite person to torment, with a short bout of laughter.

"Krogan are predictable. They attack what is in front of them until either their prey or _they_ are dead. They _do not_ respect the idea of teamwork or strategy. The Geth, on the other hand, will bait us with traps and work _together_ as an efficient unit. They know what each other know at all times thanks to their network. The Geth are a _formidable _opponent."

"I concur." Garrus dropped the file of papers he'd been reading from, to create a dramatic tension his monotonous voice was unable to, on the table and sat down apprehensively. "However, we have no _orders_ to enter combat with the Geth at present. We are to _only_ observe and leave at any sign of danger. A small fleet will be waiting at the next jump point in case we run into_ any_ trouble."

"A battle can be _lost_ in the time it takes for a _fleet_ to enter a _jump point_."

"Then will just have to be fortunate enough to not gain, if they are even there, the Geth's attention. I've read this ship seems to have a uncanny talent at getting lucky from its past mission reports."

"The ship but not its crew." Lieutenant-Commander Ioik sighed, the rest of the crew mimicking her expression of anguish, and pushed her body back into her chair staring down at her hands.

The collective thoughts of the crew, forming ominous rainclouds above their heads and clearing the humid environment for the broken air conditioning system with an icy breeze, for fallen comrades dearly missed. Garrus Vakarian suddenly felt like a lecherous dog having brought the entire crew into a mild depression, like only a turian Spectre declaring doom can, and sought vigorously for words to uplift the mood. However, there was only one thought, so totally unimportant for an ex-C-sec officer to ignore, which nagged at the back of his mind like an untrained poodle.

"What _exactly_ is salsa?"

"I believe it is a human mating ritual." The salarian navigation officer was the first to leap upon the question, and hump it if he could, followed by a sharp synthetic rush of breath from the volus Comm.'s officer.

"No, it's a _dance._ You remember Anyaba?"

"If you're referring to that _strange_ human man, with the red earth flower between his teeth, telling me '…_sway your hips senorita_…' then n_o_."

"Then why _exactly_ have we been looking for a human mating dance in a death trap of a mission?" Dharam folded his arms defensively.

A sudden outburst of laughter from the human's around the table, who had been listening mischievously, brought the aliens discussion to an abrupt halt. A number of mighty frowns attempted to pierce the soft squishy pink species, with the exception of the older turian who seemed beyond dreaming deep in thought, as they continued to hoot and thump the table wrapped in mirth the Russian physically falling back in his chair to the ground before clambering back up. Tori cleared her throat gently, tapping the edges of the military documents she had been scanning until perfectly neat, rolling her shoulders back and forth until most of the hilarity in the area along with her tension had subsided.

"Salsa is a form of dance, not anymore a mating ritual then any other dance, but it is also a food dip. My mother and her family eat it with tortilla chips as a snack."

"That explains the use of the lemon I suppose." Karaten added a mental note.

The dawn of realization, struggling to make its presence bright and cheerful, clambered onto and attached itself to most of the alien's faces like an unusually colourful piece of S & M gear. The human's were still chuckling quietly to themselves, about the obvious mistakes made, but were soon ready to continue the meeting with a professional if not amused air. Dharam also decided to return, from his expedition of daily memories, somewhat annoyed at the realization he'd left a light on in the lower deck garage.

"You all understand the mission, its vital importance to Citadel space _and_ its dangers. We'll go in, collect the data and be _out_ ASAP."

"I still think we could do with a couple of cruisers and a dreadnaught, _Spectre_."

Garrus could feel the older turians talons digging into the dirt; his years of experience teaching him to be cautious of everything but the younger turian had his own telling the newly fledged Spectre that dangerous choices sometimes had to be made in order to progress and save the unit. He only wished the council had sent him alone, or at least allowed him to select his own crew like Sheppard had picked him, this crew felt increasingly like emotional baggage that would hinder instead of assist. The turian also found himself disliking the vessels commanding officer, a small piece of which he had to admit were for aesthetic motives, who seemed inexperienced and unable to keep her crew in check. Not to mention also exhibiting repetitive habits, as he watched her clawing at her collar for the fifth time of the day and clearing her throat softly, that screamed borderline maniac to the ex-C-sec officer.

As if on cue, the XO stood sharply, peering around at the faces bordering her with a deliberate air.

"If we've all finished _stating_ are reservations about the mission, lets get back to are _jobs_ and get the Hierarchy III away from this _multicultural paradise_ before the inhabitants realize how _ugly_ it is and kick us out. I _expect_ the ship prepped and ready to leave in the next hour, _no_ excuses.

Heranon, as soon as Corporal Gungnir is up and awake I'll assign him to help you in engineering."

"I'll have him up and ready for duty after a good detox in a few hours."

"Thank you, Omari. You can handle down below with Private Carbery, Dharam. You don't need a tech down there for the time being."

"That_ should_ be fine. Though, I hope to get my Corporal back at some point."

"Pallas's deferral from ground team is for another eight days. You'll get him back then _but_, seeing how it goes, I might put him on alternating shifts between you and Heranon." Tori waited for a customary nod of agreement from her Lieutenant before she continued but received an unusual grunt of tolerance. "Heranon, I want you to work the Corporal _hard_ and Doctor, don't detoxify him _too_ much. Perhaps a bitter tasting hangover will dissuade him from taking misjudged alliances with suspicious substances. _Crew_ _dismissed_."

There was a chorus of '_yes sir'_, and a solo _'yes ma'am'_ performed with the objective to annoy the commanding officer, followed by chairs scrapping the floor and the padding of hurried footsteps across the meshed deck. Garrus found himself sitting firmly in his seat, after having fought the urge to obey a '_crew dismissed' _order, watching the Lieutenant-Commander with mild wander as she picked up her perfectly organised folder. _Perhaps I judged to quickly_, he reasserted his opinions, _but there's still something wrong about that one_.

A quick glance from the XO, as she looked up and moved from the table to the door, made the Spectre suddenly remember the soggy napkin filled mess he was hiding in his armour. He stood uncomfortably fumbling in the slot, using all of his concentration to coax the weakened paper out without spillage, before looking around for some way of permanent disposal and noticing the human male now cleaning the remnants of plate and turian biscuits from the floor.

"Uh… _here_."

The Russian frowned at the damp napkin parcel now in his palm, pondering what sort of contents could create such a horrid odour, not even noticing the Spectre leave.

"_Thanks_, I'll treasure it always."


	3. Chapter 3 Collisions

**Chapter 3 Collisions**

Dharam plied a clawed hand across the door release, his gaze focused and solid ever watching foreword, igniting the inner mechanics to allow passage through the portal to another realm of intrigue. He strode forward into the dimly lit space, the off yellow light from the corridor attempting to illuminate the void of the next room feebly, a faithful shadow clinging to the turians presence blinking to rid its eyes of semi-blindness. Navigating a deliberate route Dharam finally came to a halt, besides a collection of bedraggled lockers, a quiet yelp of pain from the entity that followed his wake breaking his concentration and gaining whatever attention he had to spare.

"Keep aware of your surroundings and that won't happen." Dharam turned to watch a sturdy table slump over scattering entrails of assault rifle components. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes I'm _ahhh_-" Nano clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

The darkened room they were in gave the young women the creeps, forcing her imagination to conjure images of ghosts and monsters hiding in every orifice of the gloom, and it didn't help when the turian looked at her with those glowing blue eyes appearing almost suspended in mid air. The deep scarring across his left eye causing a squint, Nano had not noticed before, that wreaked pure fictional evilness. Actually when she thought about it more the talons, pointy teeth and mandibles, well one mandible the second appeared to have been ripped off by an unsuspecting victim trying to escape their killers claws, was so ludicrously oozing with the makings of a true villain they started cancelling each other out.

Nano lifted herself carefully, from the wreckage she had caused, bringing the displaced table back up to its original insertion before squinting at the ground for the objects she had heard scatter.

"I just can't see in this _dark_ very well, uh, _sir_."

Dharam looked the length of the room with a calculating stare daring his eyes to disprove of the dark. The light level seemed perfectly acceptable to him, comfortable even, living in a darkened environment allowed for training without eyesight and strengthened the other senses. However, there had never been anything but turians on the ground team before. _Perhaps_, he considered coolly, _human eyesight isn't up to turian standards_.

"You need to get used to _unfavourable_ conditions, Private." Dharam took a few steps to his right, turning on a small lamp on a disused workstation, before backtracking to a wall panel towards the left hand side of the room.

"_Yes, sir_!"

"But, we can't have you breaking that soft neck of yours over _poor_ eyesight."

"I have twenty-twenty vision, sir."

"And I have no idea what that means." Dharam turned the rooms lighting up a few notches at the console before junctioning to watch the humans look of wander as she suddenly became enlightened by the rooms mass and military contents.

"Its not very _big_ is it."

"No. It isn't."

"I mean, the training ships at the academy had bays _three times_ this size."

"Well aren't _they_ the lucky ones."

"And this _equipment_. Look at that APC, is that a mark three? I thought those were decommissioned four years ago. You get to train in the mark _fives_ at the academy."

"_Private_, I don't know what you were expecting as a first assignment straight out of academy but I hope you get over it _quickly_. The Hierarchy III was commissioned seven years ago, that _mark three_ has been with us since then and at the time it was the newest model. Since then its been cared for diligently by this crew and upgraded to meet military codes and standards. Its _saved_ my ground team from hostile encounters more than I can count and you _do not_ throw away apart of your squad just because a _new model_ has appeared. If we did then we'd be learning _new_ control configurations every month and there's no contest between _new_ and _shiny_ and _reliability_ and _experience._

"Uh… yes sir." Nano felt her voice shrink away from her lips. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't apologize. Corporal Gungnir vocalizes far darker opinions than yourself in half the time. I'll warn you not to let the Corporal take you astray, he has… unusual ideals."

"Corporal Gungnir? Didn't someone say he's in the med lab at the debriefing?"

"Yes."

"Something about a detox? Was he poisoned?"

"In a sense, but it is none of either of our businesses."

Dharam rolled his shoulders a few times, looking a little perturbed, releasing the tension in his back. Nano took the hint, bending down to pick up the scattered components on the floor, searching for a new line of conversation to distract the two damning ones from previous.

"Um… may I ask how you got that scar... sir?"

"Which one?"

Nano looked towards her superior, letting most of the components rest back on their cosy table, noticing the remnants of multiple scars adorning the chitin armoured face. Most were camouflaged, unintentionally, under the layering of white face paint on grey and others seemed too symmetrical to be anything but the straightforward contour of the older turians face.

"Oh I meant the big one on your eye."

"Krogan."

"Looks like it was painful."

"It was a lot more painful for the krogan when I was through with him." Dharam flashed a few pointed teeth, before continuing. "Almost lost the eye but I was lucky and learned from my _inexperienced_ mistake. What about that on your face?"

"What on my face?"

"The reddish brown bits. Looks like you were burned."

"_My freckles_? They're quite normal! … Sir!"

"My mistake. I've just never seen a human with 'freckles' before."

"A lot of humans have them lasered off now."

"They're unhealthy?" Dharam looked somewhat concerned.

"No, no! It's just cosmetic. It's generally considered that freckles are… unattractive. Lower class even."

The turian fell into silence, staring at the woman's freckles, and pondered the bemusing subject. For an uncomfortable moment, as her superior glared at her face forcefully, Nano worried her facial markings would burn away into nothing under the scrutinising eyes.

"Some asari have similar markings, I thought your people view the asari as attractive specimens?" Dharam finally broke the silence.

"Uh… I guess so… sir. But, they're blue. I mean, _unusual_ and fascinating and blue."

"Then make your freckles_ blue_."

"Yes… sir?" Nano looked a little puzzled, picking up the last of the fallen debris and placing it upon the table.

"Now back to business. This is your locker …"

___________________________________________

"Is everything ready for departure?"

Lieutenant-Commander Ioik wandered onto the control deck, looking as nervous and out of place as a new recruit, running a sharp finger along the length of her collar. Not that anybody took any notice of her unkempt entrance; the command crew all appeared to be hard at work, or at least dramatising efficiency. This was certainly a historical day, in the woman's own private list of achievements, the Hierarchy III's first real mission in several months at the helm of a new commanding officer and a _Spectre_.

_I hope I don't kill everybody_, she thought glumly fighting off an inner image of her father emitting an aura of disappointment. _At least I'd die with them and not have to face that._ _What am I thinking, that's cowardice. Ah frell, who am I trying to kid here? I'd rather be on the ground team facing an armada and taking my orders from safe, reliable Dharam._

"My _calculations_ are ready, transmitting to the helm." Karaten darted his fingers wildly around his console, even after apparently having sent the navigational data.

"Trajectory received. All bay doors and access routes are secure, awaiting departure permission from Citadel." Anyaba cracked her fingers, itching to leave.

"All stations report green." The volus comms officer inhaled. "_Citadel command_, this is _Hierarchy III_ requesting permission to depart from Citadel, docking bay nineteen."

"_This is citadel command, hold up Hierarchy III we have a priority cargo run currently docking in your area, you are currently twenty third on our departure roll."_

"_Twenty third_?!" Karaten paused to look up from his console, before hitting a transmission key. "_Citadel control_ this is _Hierarchy III_-"

"Karaten, _what are you doing_?" Tori watched her navigation officer sternly.

"-we have a _Spectre_ on board and request_ immediate_ departure." The salarian released his finger from the key, binding the communication between ship and station. "I'm getting us _off_ this metal slug, _Ioik_."

"_This is citadel command, please confirm, you have a Spectre on board?"_

"Karaten, the Spectre needs to initiate his _own_ priority orders. Otherwise, we're a standard military vessel and need to conform under Citadel military regs." Ioik tried her best to reason with her Navigation officer, whom seemed to accept his commanding officers words as disregardable.

"Yes _citadel command_. _Spectre_…" Karaten looked questionably towards the mystified volus comms officer, whom shook his head awkwardly, before looking over at his XO.

"I'm not going to help you." The disgruntled woman folded her arms, with an audible sigh, and glared out the pilot's window.

"_Hierarchy III? Hierarchy III please respond."_

"Its _Vakarian_. The Spectre's name is _Garrus Vakarian_."

"_Thank you_, Anyaba." Karaten turned back to his console and worked the transmission key haughtily. "_Citadel command_ this is _Hierarchy III_, apologizes we temporarily suffered a loss of communication. To confirm we have _Spectre Garrus Vakarian _on board."

"_Hierarchy III, we are confirming this information please hold, citadel control out."_

As the waiting game began between citadel commands information checking, which she half expected to be nothing more than someone flipping a coin, and possible departure Toriamos let her mind wander into the realms of pure fantasy. Playing out the possible scenarios of being a real Commander and taking responsibility for discipline, which she knew very well she was incapable of, on crew members that seemed to walk over her like an old rug mostly ending in pure disaster. Though, one such scenario finally began to co-operate with her desired outcome, as long as she tweaked with certain peoples personalities and got someone else to do the yelling for her, and began:

"_Karaten… Anyaba… I'm disappointed in you both. This is a military vessel not a pleasure cruise, I should have you both reprimanded."_

"_Sorry commander but I thought this was supposed to be a priority mission set by the council." Karaten looked frighteningly innocent with huge anime eyes, which were quickly amended to something realistic. "I only stated the facts to citadel command."_

"_That's… true, but did you not think that the priority cargo run currently docking might be something greatly important? Like medical supplies seriously in demand?"_

"_Its doubtful citadel command would put a Spectre above needed medical supplies." Karaten gestured an unsympathetic hand. "The Citadel has guidelines and regulations."_

"_But they might, Karaten. We know a Spectre status is powerful, it might be just that powerful and it isn't either of our rights to be wielding somebody else's power around." Ioik looked commanding and slightly more attractive._

_The asari brought a clenched fist, calling out for an end to war, down upon her chairs armrest. The room entered a moment of anxious silence, the pilot letting her head roll back against the headrest eyes closed as if in a meditative state to drown out the bickering of children, punctuated by the sounds of the comms officers steady synthetic breathing._

"_I apologize for subverting your authority, commander, by supplying Karaten with information."_

"_But, Anyaba, it was only fact-"_

"_Karaten." The salarian didn't need to see the asari's eyes to know just what danger he was in; the undertones, in that tranquil voice, made it feel like those eyes were burning holes right through him. "You would never have pulled this kind of stunt without the Captains permission."_

"_Mhmm." The Navigation officer flinched as if beaten by an invisible whip before forcing his wide brown orbs into eye contact with his superior. "I'm… sorry."_

"_I also need to apologize for my inexperience with command. If I were a stronger leader this scenario would not have occurred. You were right to think of the mission's priority. However, next time I would prefer- no- greatly appreciate if you counselled me with your ideas and complaints if you have any. We need to keep the structure of this crew intact in order to work together and perform to the standards we are capable."_

Lieutenant-commander Ioik took a deep breath in, attempting to force all the negative emotion she felt out with positive recycled air, before releasing it slowly in a sigh. The conflict, between egos and authority, was long over due and anxiously expected. Everybody knew she wasn't ready for this kind of responsibility, more so herself, but there was little choice in the matter with so many more important vessels suffering large casualties and resources of officers spread so thin over the galactic front. The better man, so to speak, simply was not available and the lesser woman was the only one taking calls.

"_Hierarchy III," _the voice of the galactic hub brought the XO sharply back to reality. _"this is citadel command, we've confirmed your vessels Spectre status. Please prepare for departure."_

"_Citadel command_, this is _Hierarchy III_," Dorlan looked over at his pilot, receiving the nod of readiness. "We are ready for departure. Engines are running hot."

"_Releasing docking clamps, vector delta T one is clear."_

"_Hierarchy III_, confirming we are taking vector delta T one, thanks for the assistance _citadel command_. _Hierarchy III_ out."

"_Good luck Hierarchy III, Citadel out."_

Anyaba brought the ship about, feeling increasingly relaxed now the magnetic leash wasn't holding her down, and piloted away from docking bay nineteen. The Citadels open arms, sinisterly welcoming, giving way to the cold perilous clutches of space. It felt good to be free again, nothing but an empty abyss ahead, away from prying minds and dreary citadel business. It was almost like old times, flying around the galaxy being adventurous and self-important, except things, the ship, the captain were not the same.

"Time to first jump point, two point three hours."

"Good. Let me know before we reach the last jump point." Lieutenant-commander Ioik turned from her pilot to her navigation officer, opening her mouth to begin some form of scolding, but allowing hesitation to knock the wind from her.

The navigation officer, seemingly unperturbed by the brief situation, returned to his flourishing of key pressing as if nothing had occurred. Dorlan and Ioik exchanged an awkward look, if a volus in an encounter suit can look awkward, before the comms officer turned back to his work. The XO turned around, flinching at memories of words of wisdom bestowed by her mother _'We cannot step back into our past, only move foreword into our future.',_ heading towards the exit and clasping her hands behind her back in a false gesture of relaxation. It wasn't until she turned into the corridor that her false appearance of modest authority finally broke, a feeling of dread escalating from her ankles north, as the appearance of a commanding turian form slumped against the wall came to her attention.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough." Garrus Vakarian brought himself up to full height.

_________________________________________

The Med lab was filled with an unusual aroma that, could and was, literally burning the hairs of the Doctors nose. It also stung at his eyes, causing him to weep perversely, and made his head lightly rotate at intervals. Yet, and this was the bit that really annoyed the old Caribbean gentleman, the concoction seemingly had no effect on his drug happy patient whom continued to remain passed out on his cot.

"You've had one too many detox's, son." Omari sighed rubbing a little more ointment under the turians crinkled nose. "Wake up sleeping beauty or I might force you to drink this. It won't make your digestive system pleased."

The unconscious turian made a light snorting sound, a kin to soporific snoring, before mumbling quietly in his sleep and attempting to roll onto his side against the restraint of the Doctors arms.

"Oh no _you_ don't!" Omari fought to keep the Corporal lying flat as the sound of hissing hydraulics and metal lightly scraping brought to the Doctors attention away to the opening of the med lab doors.

"You wanted t-" Garrus Vakarian stopped sharply as the room's aroma hit his nostrils full on like a wave of hot pillows fired from a cannon.

"Ah, Garrus isn't it?" Omari pulled himself away from his patient and straightened his back with a light creak. "You don't mind if I call you Garrus?"

"What is that _smell_?!" The Spectre took a few steps backwards until there was no more room to manoeuvre and his back met the closed door.

"It's the first step in a turian detox." The Doctor waved a hand signalling for the turian to come closer. "I'm glad to see it isn't the ointments fault for the Corporals restfulness."

"I'm afraid I may regurgitate." The ex-C-Sec officer clutched a clawed hand over his mouth.

"That's a perfectly normal reaction, certainly feel free to offload if you need to, into one of those bowls of course." The old Caribbean chuckled as he pointed to a stack of what looked like cardboard hats. "Come in, Come in."

"Why did you call me here?" Garrus staggered forward a few paces before leaning against a cot to steady himself.

"I need to give you a medical check-up. See what's going on in that body of yours and a complete medical history. We don't want anything nasty popping up whilst we're _gallivanting_ the reaches of space now do we." The Doctor continued to laugh as he pulled out some equipment from various draws, each more uncomfortable looking than the next.

"I'll have my medical files sent to you from the Normandy. Dr Chikawas gave me medical clearance three months ago."

"That's all very well Garrus, but _a lot_ can happen in three months." The older human male, happy with his arrangement of equipment in tray, sat down with a grateful sigh at his desk and pulled up some files. "You should know I'm only following Citadel Military regulations. All new crewmembers need to have a medical check-up within thirty-two standard hours of arrival on board ship. _Whether or not_ they have had a recent examination."

"Very well, but can we make this quick, the _smell_ is intolerable."

"I need to be thorough now Garrus. A turian can appreciate that." Omari looked sidelong at his new patient fidgeting uncomfortable. "Take a seat and relax. I'll begin with a few questions. Have you had any illnesses, major or minor in the last six months?"

"No."

"Is there a family history of illnesses or diseases major or minor?"

"No."

"Any injuries major or minor in the last six months?"

"No… well I did break a talon during the attacks six months ago but it has mostly grown back."

"Is it causing any discomfort?" The Doctor began typing furiously.

"No."

"Which talon?"

"Second on the left."

"Very good. Have you had contact with any contaminates or toxins in the last year?"

"No."

"Have you had any piercings, tattoos or other form of invasive procedure in the last year?"

"No."

"Do you take recreational or performance drugs?"

"I sometimes have a drink."

"How often would you say you drink in units a week?"

"Two maybe three."

"I didn't expect you to be a teetotaller." Omari sniggered. "Have you had sexual relations in the last six months with any individual outside of your species?"

"_No_."

"Have you had sexual relations in the last six months with a consort or other form of paid company?"

"_No_."

"Are you or do you think you might be pregnant?"

"_No_."

"Are you sure? People are often wrong about these things."

"Yes I am _very_ sure."

"I'll test you anyway."

"That is _not_ necessary."

"Its part of the normal testing procedure. I'll need a blood, excrement and bile sample." The Doctor stood turning to pick up his tray of assorted torture appliances. "Take off your clothes and lay on the bed."

"STRIPPERS!" Corporal Gungnir suddenly burst out screaming as he sat bolt upright with a distant and harangued appearance.

Garrus and Omari stayed stock still in their positions, as if caught in a biotic's passing warp field, before a quiet chortle crackled into life from the old Doctors larynx.

Gungnir abruptly caught his head in both hands, before it had the chance to simply fall from his neck and roll away, and groaned at the throbbing ache he felt throughout his body.

"I see you're finally awake, Pallas." The Caribbean gentlemen moved to the hung-over turian's side. "I've been trying to wake you for the past few hours but you've been proving resilient to the usual methods."

"Is that why I feel like a cruiser hit me?"

"No, that's probably your hangover… well, maybe just your hangover." Omari laughed so hard his body began to shake from the force.

"Very funny." Pallas glared through his claws, with envious green eyes, at the old human before realizing he was covered in an odorous gel. "What the frell is this!"

"You should know by now what that is." The Doctor pushed the turians head back with the palm of his hand and began flashing an uninvited beam of light into the alien's eyes. "I've had to use it on you every time we've had shore leave or entered a port."

"Gett'doff." Corporal Gungnir slapped the human's prying hands away from his face before sliding from the cot he laid on, finding his legs oddly fatigued, and falling to the floor with a thud.

"Fine mood you're in today, Corporal." Omari watched the turian, attempting to right himself, through narrowed eyes.

"Perhaps you should let the Doctor tend to your medical condition." Vakarian offered a taloned paw to his struggling kin.

Pallas glared at the proffered hand, before following its length to the do-gooders phizog, not recognizing the helpful turian. Snarling, to the room at mass, the disgruntled Corporal got to his feet on his own and steadied himself for a fight.

"Mind your _own_ business, _bareface_."

"Corporal, I wouldn't insul-"

"And why _not_, Doctor!" The disgruntled turian slammed his clenched fist into the nearest bed, causing minor denting. "I know he's here to _replace_ me! Why else would there be another _turian_ on board!"

"Getting offensive over a situation you have little clarity about will only-"

"_Mister Vakarian_, please let me handle my _own_ patient."

"I was only… yes Doctor." Garrus took a step back on himself, looking uncomfortable.

"Now Pallas that's not true." The old human, playing his old frailty card, creaked onto the now dented cot and rested his legs. "What would Citadel military or the Turian hierarchy do without you on their pay roll."

"HA! They'd throw a banquet with asari dancers."

The old Caribbean slapped his thighs, as he laughed loud enough to be heard from the command deck where Dorlan and Karaten exchanged a bewildered glance, crying with tears of delight. By his side the enraged turian was trying desperately to refrain from a chortle of his own as he watched the overweight human physically wobble under his own merriment.

"'_Asari dancers'_…" Omari repeated the words, as his jollity began to subside, wiping the tears that swam the creases of his face. "You're probably right about that one, son. But this one isn't here to take your job. Nobodies gone and fired you yet, but they probably will at the rate you're going at."

"He's not my … well what's he doing here then!" Pallas flung a pointed talon under Garrus' nose and shook with a mixture of exhaustion and anger. "An intruder? Or worse, _a politician_?"

"I am not a _politician_… or an intruder." Vakarian was unable to stop the tumbling of words from his post-evolution beak. "I'm _Garrus Vakarian_, S-"

"A Spectre!" Corporal Gungnir suddenly brought his hand back from under the Spectre's nose as if he would bite it off. "What the FRELL is a SPECTRE doing on board MY SHIP!"

"Pallas, C-" The Doctor began.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I do not need calming down! Maybe you need to calm up!"

"Corporal you're getting-" Garrus tried before being immediately cut off by the raving turian.

"Hysterical? This is _not _hysterical!" Gungnir swiped the contents of the Doctors medical tray, for the second time that day, to the floor in a single swift motion. "This is _pissed off_!"

"Pallas, what am I thinking right now?" Omari watched his patient with sudden intrigue.

"How would I know I'm not a frelling _human_!"

"Just look at me for a second and tell me what you think I am thinking."

"Six pence, what has this got to do with a Spectre be-"

"That's _exactly_ what I was thinking." The Doctor's curious face suddenly blossomed into a wide grin. "Garrus, could you think of an object whilst Pallas here reads your mind."

"_What_?" Both turians chimed together looking equally confused.

"Just think of an object. Pallas look at him and tell me what you think-"

"What kind of strange human game is this, Omari?" Gungnir folded his arms, tilting his head to the side, and watched the Doctor through malevolent green orbs. "There has never been a recorded turian telepath and I'm frelling sure I'm not going to be the first."

"You took a large quantity of lobe dust." The old human hopped from his perch on the medical cot and hurried over to his console cracking a vile under his foot on the way. "It was never tested on turians, because it wasn't made for your people, but it could be possible the agent has had an effect on your lobe functions. Garrus, have you decided on an object?"

"I'm sorry Doctor, but I'm inclined to side with Corporal Gungnir on this."

"Oh are you, bareface!" Pallas suddenly began staring at the Spectre as if he was trying to carve his initials on the turians chitin armour with the power of thought. "You're thinking that you need to _read up on your reports about the Geth bases found in the Armstrong Nebula last year in order to form an infiltration strategy if any possible targets arise that won't get this useless crew kil_- HEY! If you think this crew is so frelling useless why don't you go get yourself a nice big turian Dreadnought Spec-"

"Pallas? Are you-" Doctor Harrigan leapt forward, leaving out the old frail appearance he normally carried, catching the turian patients shoulders and helping him to stand. "Ok, Corporal. Lets get you back to bed."

"Argh, my frelling head is swirling on fire."

"Sounds like a party I'm sorry to be missing." Omari chuckled as he levered the turian onto the bed and shuffled off to grab a syringe. "I'll give you a mild sedative. Lay there and try and rest for the next hour, whilst I run some tests."

The door to the med lab suddenly ignited, grabbing the Doctors attention as he plied his patient with prescription drugs. Garrus Vakarian moved forward into the dull corridor shadows becoming apart of the darkness.

"Garrus, was he correct?" The human called out to the solitary figure that exited his domain in silence. "I'll just take that as a '_yes'_."

"He's a _politician_."

"Now, now, Pallas. That's quite enough excitement from you today."

Pallas stroked his closed lids, attempting to rub away the pain that lingered in his cranium, and gave in to the Doctors fussing bedside manner.

"Forgive me Omari." The turian sighed. " I am not feeling myself."

"Yes, I know. You haven't been yourself for _too_ long, son."

The turian grunted, as his final response on the matter, and closed his eyelids ready for undeserved rest.

________________________________________

The pilot flicked a few switches, readying the ship for a jump, and brought the small frigate into perfect alignment with the increasingly nearing zero mass relay.

"Entering Exodus cluster mass relay." She called out in a monotonous voice, knowing full well nobody was listening.

The frigate pulled about flying directly at the hypnotic pull of the relay, happily doing nothing apart from looking interesting in an otherwise desolate area of space, ensnaring itself along side the great beast of machinery before being flung like a box of free range eggs wrapped in Styrofoam and bandages across the other side of the galaxy hoping no heads would get cracked.

Stars, planets and nebulas whizzed by in the blink of an eye, a sight that would have delighted small children, but Anyaba Callis simply closed her eyes and yawned looking upon the concept of sheer wander as having eaten too much chocolate and now feeling rather sick of it.

The small vessel came to a sudden halt, at the other end of the ride, stuttering in its stride for a moment until the overly relaxed pilot managed to add a little enthusiasm in setting the stabilisers straight.

"_Anyaba_!" Karaten paused his incessant clattering of keys for a moment to shake an angry fist towards his crewmate. "Could you try being a good pilot and keep the damn _ship_ straight!"

"We hit an asteroid on the escape vector." The asari shrugged him off. "I am hardly at fault for space debris."

"That's what you'd like to think. How many times do you think you've made an error and got a piece of ship or asteroid scrapped off to go flying through the void."

"Twice."

"Well… that's at least two pieces of space junk you're responsible for!"

"I'm sure nobody is at harm from two pieces of ship scrapings." The volus interjected.

"According to my calculations there's a 2.496 thousand billion of a trillion to one chance of somebody actually getting hit by those two pieces of-"

"All systems reporting in green. No damage received from collision."

"-debris and according to a human mathematical theory one in a million chances occur ninety percent of the time-"

"Continuing route to Hades Gamma mass relay. Interception in two point four hours."

"-If we times that percentage for a million to one times 2.496 thousand billion of a trillion then that-"

"-means I don't care, salarian, and _really_ need a piss."

"You don't need to be quite so ineloquent, Anyaba."

"Switching controls to Auto-pilot." The asari cracked her neck and stood moving impartially towards the door and away from the incessant babbling of her navigation officer.

"I will never understand how you _tolerate_ that asari, Dorlan."

"You are right, you _never_ will." The volus grinned inwardly.

______________________________________________________

Lieutenant-Commander Ioik sat on her bunk, in the cramped crew quarters she occupied, elbows rested upon her knees as she watched her wrists dangling lifelessly between her legs. The room was dark and littered with shadows, chased silently by the light seeping under the door, whilst a small desk lamp created a warm orange glow spotlighting a few photo frames.

The smiles of well-intentioned faces flickered and danced under the tranquil light attempting to gage the woman's attention, much like a cat clawing at its owner's eyes before flirting for frivolous favours. She looked up, somewhat slowly as if reluctant to take part in such content memories, confronted by a wide mouthed turian child tightly gripping a large red ball and watching her with steady orbs filled with mischievous amusement.

The Halfling could no more control the quiet chuckle that broke the anxious barrier of her lips than she could stop the relentless bliss the youngster's picture continued to convey. The same could not be said of the feelings that surfaced from the brief eye contact between that of herself and an adult turian males, crowded in another photo frame.

He stood straight and proud, a protective hand draped over a human females shoulder, watching through the glass lens with a sense of worry, disappointment and pride. The first two of which Ioik could not shake off so easily, letting it continue to fester within the recesses of her mind, breeding and developing it into a higher sentience.

Now she was really guilt ridden, her pours felt clammy and dirty, it would take more than just a quick shower to clean the stain from her conscious; and there probably wasn't enough hot running water in all of Citadel space for the longer version. Nonetheless, a shower sounded like a good idea after the excitement of the morning, having been caught off guard by the Corporals lapse into a synthetic trance and missing her morning hygiene routine.

_I don't even think I remembered my face markings this morning_, she slid a clawed finger across the contour of her face as if placing invisible paint, _and nobody said a word. Lucky me_.

Standing, with a burdened sigh, the woman stretched an arm the short length of the compartment pulling loose a generic towel from a rack and tossing it disinterestedly across her shoulder. Moving to the exit she signalled for the door to open leaning across the threshold as if to fall, wiping tiredness from her eyes, and staggered forward before catching herself. Her destination was directly across the hall, barely three or four weary steps, and thankfully the facilities were vacated.

Entering the damp washroom Toriamos locked the door, tucking her towel onto a hook beside the shower, breathing in the smell of long cold steam and fresh mould.

_Either the extractor fan is dead or Nikolai Rimsky is_, she made a mental note as her reflection in the mirror came into view. The despondent woman gave herself a critical working over, gripping the sides of an innocent basin, barely recognizing the form reflected. Every few years or so another genetic re-sequencing, another adaptation, another necessary change to the body she carried around.

_If I wasn't so unusual my own mother wouldn't recognize me_, she began to fume at her own depressing thoughts.

"Cut it out will you!" The military officer began to claw off the uniform she wore with a sense of muted frustration. "You need to think this through. Get a strategy and use it or else they'll just keep walking all over you."

Folding the last piece of her uniform, into an overly neat pile, she paused to glower at her naked figure within the looking glass. The part of her that she didn't recognize seemed to be bearing right through into her soul and threatening it with something hot and sharp.

"You got promoted to this position for a reason." An accusing finger pointed directly at her from the other side of the glass. "And for the record, talking to yourself is a sign of mental illness. Stop it!"

Obeying her own personal scolding she couldn't help but give herself a stern salute before hopping, with a renewed sense of pride, into the shower unit. The Lieutenant-Commanders thoughts drifted into battle strategy, deciding to view her subordinates as enemy factions to overcome, as she began to lube her body with a cleaning agent that fizzed gently against her skin and welting hair.

Engaging the water system she turned the thermostat down to a chilling sensation, hoping to bring about total clarity of mind, and shuddered as she rinsed her carcass of dirt and disinfectant. It was during this, ritualistic right of purity, the XO began to have menacing thoughts of washing Karaten down a drain with a fiendish chuckle.

"He might just fit with that lean for-" Tori paused a moment in shock, steam rising above her form, before the sudden realisation of the temperature change reached the brain. "AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The military officer flung herself, in a screeching undignified scramble, out of the shower unit to the cold metallic floor outside. It took a few seconds for the woman to catch a hold of her self control bringing herself to stand, with a sullen bitterness, and clutch hold of her steam dampened towel.

Moving towards the, cheerfully misty, shower she reached a menacing hand inside and hammered the off switch with muted irritation. The scolding water immediately ceased, the haze continuing to rise in billowing clouds towards the ceiling, as the Halfling pushed her hand up against the reflection less mirror and wiped the condensation away in a hand shaped streak.

_At least I got to rinse this time_, she thoughtfully sighed, bringing her towel up and rubbing viciously to dry her hair.

"Blasted human fluff!" Tori frowned at the damp blond follicles, shaking her hair briefly before trying to blow the fringe hopelessly from her eyes. "Never stop growing do you?"

In a sigh-full miasma Ioik, trying desperately to ignore the tickling effect of her mane, towelled herself dry before donning her uniform scrupulously back on. Once she was sure everything was perfectly straight, not a crease inexplicably in sight, the half turian removed a pot of white paste from a sparse cupboard. It took only a few seconds to complete the well rehearsed pattern across her cheeks, forehead and nose before returning the pot to its alcove and giving the wayward fringe another assault of rapid breath.

Dumping her used towel, into a brimming laundry bin, the Lieutenant-Commander made her way out of the moist room and back to her aired residential compartment. Picking up a collection of files and an inactive console Tori paused a moment to look at the disappointment of her father's picture once again, an attack on her conscious kicking into gear until she reached forward and pushed the frame downwards to face the table.

The woman sighed, knowing full well her actions were of retreat not conclusion, but she needed a little more space to free her cluttered mind and do some persistent paperwork.

_Paperwork the greatest excuse for escape_, the XO fumbled from her room in a compilation of her own thoughts.

Walking steadily along the empty corridor, with her bounty of escapism, Ioik wandered into the bare mess hall placing her assortment of folders and the powerless console on top of the dining table. With a brief look about the empty room the Lieutenant-Commander joined her diversion paperwork at her usual chair, directly facing the door as if watching for predators.

"Hey Tori." The seductive Russian accent fluttered through the air instantly repelled by the woman's thick skin.

"Nikolai Rimsky, I was wandering when you'd pop up on my radar." Tori turned on her console and began fiddling with the keys.

"Was just sorting out the supplies in the kitchen." Nikolai wearily came closer knowing as all children know that someone using your full name is typically a bad sign. "Is something the matter?"

"What? Oh yes, the shower room smells like a swamp. The shower scolded me again and the laundry bin is a ruckus."

"Well, I did send a request to engineering yesterday about the extractor fan but you know how it is with Heranon. She has other priorities and I'd rather not bother her again. I can always take a look at it myself?"

"NO!" Ioik instantly stopped her file filtering to bring her full attention to the Russian maintenance officer. "I don't think that'll be necessary."

"But it can't be all that hard, I'm sure I can handle it."

"We all still remember when you fixed the med lab door. Omari was stuck in there for fourteen hours and Anyaba almost lost a hand."

"One time thing, Skipper."

"Please don't call me Skipper. I'm not a kangaroo."

"Sure thing, Boss."

Tori tried ignoring the Russians bating deciding to type her frustration loudly. Nikolai chuckled quietly to himself turning his Citadel Military cap, that Anyaba still hadn't managed to win back from their poker nights, back to front forcing his drooping hands into the pockets of his over sized white cargo pants.

"It's a little late for Lunch but too early for Dinner, are you after my pantry Tori?"

"Your what? Oh, no I'm fine."

"Hello." A red-haired, pale face peered around the door before entering.

"Ah if it isn't the lovely Nano." Nikolai stopped his hovering over his XO and strolled closer to the Private.

"Oh? And you are?" Nano looked perplexed trying to recall the face grinning at her.7"It is I. Nikolai? From this morning?"

"Uh, sorry not ringing any bells here."

"You told me I was beautiful."

Nano took a moment to look the Russian from head to foot and back again before rolling her eyes and sniggering.

"Yeah, whatever you believe, hun."

"You tripped and fell this morning, remember?" Nikolai frowned beginning to lose his cool. "I picked you up, you had a concussion and I took you to med lab."

"Oh? Was that you?" Nano creased her forehead trying to recall the morning's events from a concussed view. "Hey! Didn't you feel me up?!"

"What?" Tori looked up from her work. "Not again Nikolai, you're still on probation with C-sec."

"You make a habit of that sort of thing do you?" Nano folded her arms looking furious.

"That incident was a misunderstanding!" The Russian took a few steps back bringing his hands out of his pockets to hold them up to the firing squad in a plea for mercy. "I was very drunk and Pallas told me she was a lap dancer."

"Don't bring Corporal Gungnir into your actions. We all know what he's like and so do you." Tori began her scolding.

"Wait, what is he like?" Nano interrupted.

"Oh, well. He's a bit of a … um … he likes …"

"To get drunk, consume large quantities of prohibited substances and visit strip clubs." Nikolai finished.

"Ah, so that's what Dharam meant about not letting him lead me astray."

"Yes, well, would you like some Lunch?" The Russian seized the moment in order to change the subject.

"Yes please, I'm starving. Dharam's had me locked down in that dark bay since this morning checking pulse rifles."

"Poor thing." Nikolai moved a hand to the small of the human woman's back before a stern gaze made him remove it. "Take a seat and I'll bring you my speciality."

"And what's that?" Nano watched the man with cynical eyes.

"Kocmoc Cholit on rye toast." The Russian pulled a chair out ready for her to sit.

"And what is in that?" Nano dismissively ignored the offered chair and continued to stare her fellow human down.

"Uh well, you take a little Bream fish, asari Oscalli, stew it with carrot, beet and onions and then bake it and serve on rye toast." Nikolai shrugged having given up on gentleman like tactics. "My father taught me the recipe, I am sure you will like it."

"I don't like carrots." The human woman tried her best to continue an insufferable look but found her resolve waning under the disheartened droop of her Russian comrade. "But, I will try it. I don't think I will enjoy it though."

"We shall see, orehhbin oahn."

"What did you call me?!" Nano turned on the attack only to find she was too late and her human companion was already jogging into his primordial cave leaving a trail of laughter.

"Oooh!" The human women took a chair beside her commanding officer and thumped the table in annoyance. "Is he always such an irritating little shit?"

Ioik looked up briefly, having been disturbed by the clatter and rattle of the table post-aggression, to make sure communications were being directed at her.

"I suppose he tries."

"Well, it's not on." Private Carbery sighed moving her elbow onto the table and leaning her chin on the up turned palm. "I joined Citadel Military to get away from that kind of human male idiotic behaviour."

"I see."

"I've got a big military family back home on Elysium. Dad, three brothers and a sister part of the home guard there." Nano began to drift into the sound of her own voice as her eyes found a spot on the wall to glaze over on. "Growing up with all those marines and knowing everybody at the local barracks made me feel like it just wasn't the place for me."

"Oh?" Toriamos, not the most notoriously sociable, tried her best to seem interested as she flicked through her files and corrected some mistakes in the logs.

"Yeah, but after the Skyllian Blitz I knew I had to be a soldier. " The human woman nodded defiantly as if agreeing with an invisible entity. "Did the opposite to little Cleo though. She decided to go be a school teacher. Dad still doesn't know how to take that one."

"It's an important job."

"Yeah, I know. Boring though. All that reading and studying just to teach snot nose kids to read and study when they'd rather be outside. Fresh airs much better for them."

"I, uh, see."

"I'm not saying studying isn't important. I just don't think it was all worth it. I mean what's Pythagoras thermo about?"

"Mathematics?"

"Yeah, but when are you ever going to use that?"

"Uh." Tori stared blankly at her console screen having used Pythagoras thermo only minutes before but debating whether or not to state this.

"Exactly! Nobody needs that useless information sloshing about in their heads!"

"Except if you're a science officer or perhaps a navigator or mathematician."

"Well. I. I. Well, yes I suppose there's that but that's a rare few individuals so why not just teach them that crap."

"I see."

"If they had only taught us useful maths at school I would have passed it the first time!" The young human pointed a menacing finger to the ceiling causing her commanding officer to flinch at the sudden movement. "How about you?"

"Me?" Ioik looked somewhat caught in the headlights as she tried desperately to look busy enough to be left alone. "Uh. Well. I got a distinction."

"Distinction? That's not a real grade." Nano shook her head and giggled. "They come from A to U."

"I grew up on a turian station."

"Oh." The private blushed with a light amount of embarrassment. "Right. You're. Yes I see that, uh now. Where's that krocmoc something a rather I'm supposed to eat?"

Nano turned around to survey the kitchen doorway in hopes of seeing the Russian returning to sooth the awkwardness now descending upon the room in lavishing spoonfuls. On the opposite hand the Lieutenant-Commander, now able to continue her work, was relieved the young subordinate was no longer throwing odd lines of thought and questioning in her general direction.

However, young humans were obviously not so easy to disentangle, Toriamos began to realize as she caught glimpses of the human woman looking about the room for conversational pieces before letting her eyes drift down back to her XO.

"Your hair is awful!" Nano reached forward managing to finger some of the halfings wiry follicles before pulling her head away with a sharp motion.

"Please." Tori took a deep cleansing breath to calm her rattled nerves. "Do not touch me."

"Sorry." The human woman rolled her eyes, her tone obviously not emitting any form of regret. "You need to _relax_. I was just trying to be friendly. Geezes. What the hell are you washing that shambles with anyway?"

Ioik latched a finger onto her collar and tugged on it as she coughed her nerves into a gentle placidity. She pondered for a moment ordering the younger woman to go away and do some menial task somewhere else; hoping for some peace and quiet to complete her files, but the human female did have a point however minimal it was.

"Disinfectant."

"Disinfectant?" Nano began to laugh loudly. "No wonder. Has nobody told you about hair care?"

"Keep it clean."

"Yes, with Shampoo and conditioner." The young human continued to laugh as if something was funny about the situation.

"With what?" Tori suddenly looked horrified she'd missed some vital piece of information about the growth on her head.

"Shampoo and conditioner." Private Carbery's giggle fit began to decrease as she noted the serious expression on her XO's face. "You don't know about it?"

"No. I've only had hair for thirteen months."

"Really?" Nano's face became the perfect home for the look of surprise and understanding in a sudden twist of facial features. "Well, that makes sense I guess. I'll tell you what you can have some of mine to try out. Remember, shampoo first, rinse, and then conditioner and rinse."

"Thank you." Ioik suddenly felt a little pang of guilt for her dismissive behaviour of earlier.

"No problem." The young human grinned, patting her commanding officers shoulder causing the woman to flinch but not resist. "Now you do know about brushing and drying right?"

"Yes. I have seen my mothers grooming and am sure I am doing that right."

"Good, good. Just checking." Nano returned to a tickle of giggles. "So, what exactly do we get up to, during recreational time, on this frigate?"

"Oh, um, uh-"

The portal to the kitchen suddenly burst into hissing life, taking the expectant attention away from the grateful Lieutenant-Commander, bringing with it the hassle-free form of the vessels resident chef carrying a steaming plate and a reassured grin. The human woman whipped her neck around, her face mutating into a look of pursed distain, and attempted to glare the smug grin from the Russians exuding aura.

"Don't look so depressed, orehhbin oahn, I have returned to brighten your day." Nikolai chuckled as he slid the burden he carried onto the table in front of his unwilling victim.

"Whatever you are calling me, stop calling me it!" Nano fumed, folding her arms tightly and trying her best to ignore the appetizing smell beneath her nose. "If I wanted a brighter day I'd turn the lights up."

"Your eyes are burning bright enough to light this room a lone, orehhbin oahn." The Russian leaned in a little closer resting his arm upon the table, beside the reluctant woman, his chin balanced upon the open palm.

"Will you please at least call me whatever you are call me in Galactic?" Nano tried her best to swallow down the rush of blood to her cheeks, caused by the seductive tones of the mans voice and his attentive gaze, and inject a controlled if mildly pissed off tone into her voice. "English even?"

"Some things are better left as a mystery." He breathed softly.

For a moment their eyes met and held, the young human male, seizing the moment reached his free hand forward lightly brushing the woman's cheek. The response the Russian was seeking, something more a kin to a womanly sigh of wander at his male magnificence, was undeterminable whilst he was flying through the air before crashing to the floor face down.

The Private glowered over the Maintenance officer, one foot firmly pushing down upon the small of his back whilst she curled his wrist above his head, shaking with well with strained fury.

"YOU BASTARD!" Nano growled.

"Uh, what did I do, orehhbin oa- ah ahh." Nikolai squirmed under the soldiers teasing twists of his wrist. "Tori… please… help… me…"

Toriamos looked over the top of her open console, before her eyes scanned downwards at the jumble of humans playing some sort of strange submission game, and watched the pair with a preoccupied if not genuine curiosity.

__________________________________________

Anyaba rounded the corner, keeping an eye out for any officers of strict background, and brought a sneaky rollup from her back pocket to her impatient cerulean lips. However, the moment was not meant to be, before she had the chance to light the dried vegetation wrapped in flammable materials an unusual wailing sound muffled by layers of thin metallic partition infested her acute hearing.

_What in the goddess' name is that?_ The asari thought, as she pocketed her sly midday distraction, letting morbid inquisitiveness get the better of her. _Sounds like a dying Rachni_, a serious frown accompanied by boredom-induced excitement blossomed across her face at the notion.

Sliding her pocketing hand up the inside of her charcoal shirt, the azure woman brought forth a small pistol, as her senses began the job of locating the enemy and tracking it down. With both hands clasped around the grip, of the light weapon, the asari trailed the unusual sound with the barrel tiptoeing with eloquent ease across the corridor and up to a closed hatch.

Anyaba could feel the adrenaline rush beating through her veins as she punched in the key to unlock the door that confined her prey, diving around its edges as the swift metal frame cleared a path inside, landing in a well rehearsed squat on one knee pointing the gun into the face of an unsuspecting salarian.

"DON'T MOVE BA- Oh its _you_." Anyaba's body slumped as realization brought with it a bitter depressive taste. "What are you doing in here making _that_ noise?"

Heranon looked up with her bulbous amber orbs, the edges brimming with moisture before cascading in great pools over the boundaries of the lids, glancing down the cold dark barrel of the pistol. The petite figure clung to her knees braced in the corner of the dimly lit supply room, barely the size of a closet, against the boxes of provisions and buried her face in her lap as she continued to sob now quietly.

Anyaba emitted an aggravated sound from the back of her throat, a mixture of annoyance and reluctant pity, as she stood sheathing her weapon from whence it came somewhere up the inside of her shirt. The asari turned about face and slid her modest form beside her alien comrade, fidgeting a moment to find the comfiest position on the matte metal flooring, in the gloomy cramped and chilling room.

"Who did it?" The blue alien frowned, assuming a female of any species would only cry over something male. "I'm sure a careful accident can occur."

The salarian female continued to weep, staining her clothes with tears, apparently impartial to her companions hypothesis. Even after a lengthy stretch of communicative silence, from either party, there was no clarification to the situation as much as the pilot remained patient.

Falling into a moment of deep contemplation the asari considered the situation further, trying to follow paths of thought she was neither accustomed to or normally interested in, and was unable to find adequate resolve.

"It was Karaten wasn't it?" Anyaba finally decided. "You two were fooling around during the briefing again."

The crying continued.

"Nikolai?" The asari used the name with some scepticism, as if he the human would hear the mentioning of his name and appear from inside a loose crate. "The Spectre?"

The salarian's thin body shook as she began to wail loudly once again causing her companion to tilt her head away from the sound and grimace.

"I am not good at guessing games, Heranon." Anyaba growled before turning abruptly at the rushing sound of air, shielding her eyes from the light filtering in from the open door, and groaning inwardly.

"What's going on?" The Russian accented silhouette stepped into the already crowded supply cupboard, cradling his right hand protectively, the door closing behind him and returning the gloom. "Heranon? Anyaba, what have you done to her?"

"I have been trying to be sympathetic!" The grumpy asari stood, dusting off her uniform. "The salarian will not co-operate."

"Woah! Somebody needs a smoke." Nikolai backed himself up to the closest wall, having no desire for another angry female like creature to attack him in a single day, before reaching into a pocket and offering the asari a small white stick.

"I have my own." The pilot leaned against a second wall, folding her arms and staring down at the bawling salarian. "What do you think is wrong with her?"

"Karaten?"

Anyaba shook her head.

"Well that leaves me and I can't remember doing anything to her." The Russian looked ponderous as he tucked his cigarette carefully into a pocket. "Or maybe that Spectre?"

Anyaba shook her head again and sighed.

"Ah, then we have left my expertise."

"I didn't know you had any." The asari pilot brought a rollup to her lips and fumbled in a pocket for something to light it with.

"Ha ha." He laughed sarcastically and rolled his eyes. "As much as I enjoy your witty remarks we still aren't any closer to sorting this problem out."

Anyaba groaned, pulling the flammable treat away from her lips and began taping it gently against the wall she leaned against, as she continued a lengthy deliberation. Still nothing occurred to her directly, even as she searched the recesses of her mind occupied by miscellaneous pieces of wisdom bestowed on her throughout the years.

Finally the young human male took a deep breath, realising his older mentor was as dumb founded as he felt, and squatted down beside the distressed salarian. Tilting his head, trying to get a better look at the alien's remarkably large eyes, he gently tapped the sobbing balls hand trying to coax from her answers.

"Is everything alright?" The Russian spoke so softly the very air he breathed on was beginning to lube with embarrassment. "Can I do anything?"

Heranon gently ceased her weeping, at the reassuring softness in the human males voice, sniffling as she looked up into his dark worried eyes. A few blobs of fluid escaped the vast depths of her orbs as she hic-upped gently warming her vocal chords back into speech readiness.

"I… I… I'm so tired." The salarian burst into wailing sobs of tears once again, the Russian tapping the aliens back reluctantly and looking somewhat thoughtful. "I… I… I've been awake for… for five days now and even the stims aren't working anymore I can't keep my mind on… on the… the… I don't know what I'm saying and then… then the valve broke on… on the field regulator and… and I had to watch the levels and manually… manually… manually the levels… the levels… they wouldn't stay still and I had to keep… you know… the levels…I just needed the coil… the driver coil to… to um… to…"

"Reg-u-late?" Rimsky added helpfully trying to keep up with the testimony.

"Yes that's it… that's the… you know… the…"

"Word?"

"Yeah." Heranon sniffled wiping her greasy sleeve across her damp face. "The word… reg-u-late…"

"Is that it?" Anyaba finally retrieved a lighter from a hidden pocket. "You got the coil this morning so go get some sleep, crazy salarian."

The salarian female began to giggle quietly at first but growing into a manic laughter that made the asari pause as she held a bare flame inches from her lip gripped cigarette. Nikolai looked somewhat worried himself, having removed his hand from the engineers shoulder, standing from his squatted position and glimpsing at his blue friend before keeping a weary eye on the delirious salarian.

"What's so funny?" The Russian chuckled uncomfortably along with the alien.

"Oh… nothing…" Heranon tittered. "Just… just you broke the coil its… its… its useless. You broke my… my… sleepy time."

The engineer's laughter swiftly converted back into sobbing accompanied by fresh tired tears.

"Heranon!" The pilot, suddenly pumping with more adrenaline than she'd ever experienced in her lengthy lifetime, called out into the tiny space. "Who's monitoring the field whilst you're here?"

The salarian, continuing to cry all the fluid inside of her body outwards, appeared to be ignoring the urgent sound in the asari's voice. The human male merely looked perplexed at the situation and found himself leaping sideways to dodge his older comrades dive at the bawling engineer.

"HERANON!" The cerulean alien screamed at the golden alien, blue hands lifting the now squirming salarian off of the ground and pinning her against the closest wall. "The mass effect field, who is monitoring it?!"

"NOBODY!" Heranon squealed as she desperately tried to touch the ground with the tips of her toes. "NOBODIES WATCHING IT! ITS JUST DROPPING!"

"Wait, the mass effect field. That's important isn't it?" Nikolai looked somewhat thoughtful after getting over the initial shock of Anyaba moving at something more than sloth speed and pinning a crewmate to a wall.

"No shit." Anyaba glared at the human, slowly releasing her grip on the struggling salarian.

"I didn't mean to…" The engineer whispered. "I'm just so tired… I couldn't… I couldn't watch it anymore… all the numbers were just… just moving so fast… I couldn't watch it anymore… the fields going to… to collapse…"

"And then what?" Nikolai continued to look perplexed.

"And then the core will become unstable, if we're lucky it'll just fizzle out and we'll lose power." The pilot spoke with authority as she navigated, the scarce two steps, to the door.

"And if we're not lucky?"

"You won't live long enough to find that one out."

Anyaba smacked the portal release, in order to escape the cramped supply room, just as the minuscule lights faded into a colour beyond darkest black.

"Shit." The asari flailed, bumping her head on the continually closed door, before the lack of artificial gravity knocked her into a floating crate.

"What was that?" A Russian accent filled the void of silence where once a life support system created sound.

"I dropped my smoke and burned my leg." A gravelly female voice responded over the renewed sounds of salarian sobbing somewhere in the general vicinity of what she guessed was the ceiling. "And we've lost power. Your lucky day human, you get to suffocate to death in a cold cupboard."


	4. Chapter 4 The longest road

**Chapter 4 The longest road**

Nano Hanora Carbery continued to stare viciously at the darkened doorway, her unwanted Russian suitor had vacated some minutes previous, her chest armour rising with every heaving breath she released in slow monotonous intervals. A clump of twirling maroon hair hovered intentionally over her eyes as the young woman flexed her arm muscles, much like an angered cat making itself look large and ferocious, before pivoting on the spot to allow her trembling hands access to a chilling plate of food.

"Private!" Lieutenant-Commander Ioik shifted her gaze, with startling speed, from a page of requisitioned artefacts to the pulsating mass of angry human. "I'm ordering you to put that plate down!"

Unable to hear the order, over the roaring sound of rage pulsating in her ears, the human solider continued her course of action. The plate of lightly steaming food was lifted defiantly behind her head, ready to plunge it at the open portal, as a slinking four-fingered hand sped through the air knocking Nano's trajectory off course.

Garrus caught off guard was mesmerised by the display of colourful food sloshing against the wall, mere inches from his face, followed by the clatter of the metal circlet it once rested upon rebounding to the ground. A solitary carrot chunk ricocheted and clung apologetically to his left cheek before being hastily flicked away as if it were some infectious material.

For a brief moment the Spectre wandered if he was the intended receptor of the mush, now seeping down the generic gray wall, and removed his unblinking stare to the two females currently in sight.

"Stop-" Tori blocked a flailing elbow whilst trying to keep her hands firmly grasped on the soldier's wrist's. "Stop. Fighting. Me."

"What is going on here?" Garrus Vakarian questioned as he watched the young human attempt to dislodge the commanding officer by throwing her over a shoulder.

"Let me go, god damn it!" The human woman continued to fight the XO's attempts to restrain her arms.

"Not until you calm down, Private!" Ioik retorted as she brought a swiping foot under her combatant's leg brining the younger woman down onto one knee before cuffing a clawed hand up over the humans face.

Blinded, by the fingers firmly pressed against her closed eyelids, Nano found herself being pushed backwards and down by the tip of her nose. This created quite a sense of panic in the young woman causing her to flail a hand, without direction, outward before clasping onto the half turian's arm for support.

"Take it easy and I'll let go." Tori breathed calmly.

"Ok… ok…" Nano wheezed through the discomfort of having her spine bent backwards. "I'm… calm… I promise…"

"Good." The XO released her captive slowly, as if she might bite a finger off, before offering a hand to help the muscle strained private to her feet.

"What was that move called?"

"Tactical combat restraint number forty nine." Both women's heads swung around in unison to meet the blue-eyed gaze of the Spectre watching them with arms folded. "What just happened here?"

"A misunderstanding between crew." Ioik almost found it unbearable to keep eye contact, with what was technically her superior, but none the less refused to flinch.

The turian stared blankly at the XO, as if a cyborg awaiting further information, before realizing there would be no more clarity added. Looking back vengefully at the pulp, now sitting at the walls base, with a tilt of his head the Spectre found his vision returned to the females paying him little or no attention now.

"Sorry about that." The human inhaled deeply, trying to calm the angry red of her cheeks that had dangerously begun to mimic her hair colour. "But he is such a little shit-head!"

"Excuse me?" Vakarian appeared dumb struck at the woman's insult.

"I know he can be a little…"

"-Shit-head." Nano finished the other woman's sentence, as if repeating the words would make it truer.

"Yes… that." Ioik sighed, not wanting to tarnish her lips with such language. "But as a solider I would expect a little more tolerance from you. Block him out, that's what we all do."

"I've noticed." Garrus muttered under his breath.

"He was all up in my personal space though!"

"No I wasn't." The turian appeared shocked at this latest accusation.

"And I will talk to him about that." The Lieutenant-Commander raised a hand to signal the Private to calm down once again. "Getting angry and trashing the Mess hall over a-"

"Shit-head."

"Yes … that. –won't achieve anything but a reprimand on your record. As a fledgling from the academy do you really want to get yourself a reputation or expulsion from service?"

"What? No!"

"Then that temper needs to get itself in check."

"Yes, sir!"

"Now, it's your first day and that's stressful enough. I think it's best if you go to your quarter's and think about your behaviour and how to tackle it."

Private Carbery paused a moment, wrinkling her nose in confusion, as she mould over the strange punishment she was being given. A sudden realization, stemming from similar repercussion brought about by childhood angst, clued her into her own confusion.

"You're sending me to my room?"

"Yes… I guess I am." Toriamos looked somewhat puzzled herself.

"You're serious?" Nano couldn't help the smirk that began to dance wildly across her lips followed by a quiet chuckle. "Is this a to bed without supper scenario?"

"No you had your supper and you threw it against the wall, Private." The XO seemed blissfully unaware of her subordinate's amusement at her clichéd disciplinary method. "But perhaps an empty belly would help you learn not to throw food."

"You _are_ serious." The freckled human was suddenly sobered.

"Yes I am, Private. Now off you go."

"Yes, sir." Private Carbery's brow knitted tightly, as she did a somewhat distant salute, and marched from the large room towards bed.

Ioik watched the solider depart before sighing heavily, allowing her shoulders to slump dully, reaching a hand to her collar to tug at unconsciously. With a minor arching of her neck she looked down upon the remains of her paper work, now scattered over the floor, and up turned chair she had ungracefully bulled over on her way to prevent the Privates projectile firing. Moving forward towards the disorder, the XO crouched low and began to gently tease the rectangular sheets from the sticky mesh flooring, placing the unorganised pieces upon the top of the mildly less tacky table above.

Standing behind the woman still, arms folded and appearing mildly bored, the Spectre watched the crouched form working diligently. With a light shake of his head Garrus found his feet carrying him onwards, beside his counter part, before joining her cleansing.

"Garrus." Tori found her eyes following the helping hands upwards to the sunken blue eyes of the Spectre. "I didn't realize you were still here."

"I have questions."

"I see." Her eyes moved back to the clutter on the floor.

"Yes." The turian stated lamely, unsure whether her words had given invitation to continue his queries. "The Private?"

"Like I said. A misunderstanding between crew."

"Yes, but I am not sure how I created a misunderstanding. I was unaware I had even spoken to the Private."

"What?" Ioik halted her progression in order to search the turians gaze for mirth. "You were not the misunderstanding and you are not my crew."

"I see." Garrus found himself adopting the XO's line whilst concealing the twinge of pain he felt from being disassociated from the group. "Then the projectile?"

"She didn't know you were there." The Lieutenant-Commander sighed as she rose to standing once again, the last of the papers clutched in-between her fingers.

"But you did." Vakarian followed suit, placing his own collection with the mismatched pile, and watched the woman massaging a tense shoulder oblivious to him. "Thank you."

Taken by surprise, Toriamos looked over her shoulder, a look of muted bewilderment encapsulating her visage. She was almost lost for words at the simple expression of gratitude, uttered by a turian Spectre, before an automatic response wormed its way disloyally between her lips.

"You're welcome."

The Spectre nodded his head curtly in response before looking about the room for some new source of conversation. Something about his befuddled appearance struck Ioik as lost and lonely, a feeling she was no stranger too, mixed with an almost child like curiosity. As much as she was now feeling sorry for the Spectre the matter still remained, she was awful at socializing.

"Have you been in the military long?" He finally broke the expectant silence and began.

"Since I was fifteen. The same as you."

"Actually, I was in C-sec for some years after boot camp and initial field unit assignment."

"I see."

"Yes."

"So… uh… how did that pan out?"

"'_Pan out'_?"

"I think it has to do with camera's. My mother says it."

"Your mother's human?"

"Yes." Tori braced herself for the inevitable question on its way.

"And your fathers…"

"Yes."

"How… I don't mean to be intrusive… its just you can't have been born long after the Relay 314 incident."

Ioik breathed in deeply pinned to the spot by her companions curiously naïve gaze aching for information and company. Even though she had been expecting the question it didn't make it easier to answer, no matter how many times she had done so.

"My parent's-" The XO paused as the lights suddenly died on the pair, alone in the mess hall, plunging them into a desolate void. "That's not good."

_________________________________

"What is going on?!" Karaten gawked blindly around the command deck unable to make out anything but the twinkle of distant stars, set on the velvet blanket of space, through the pilot's window. "I was in the middle of some very important mathematical pursuits."

"You were decrypting private logs again, Karaten." Dorlan's voice hissed over a collection of synthetic sighs.

"No I wasn't!" The agitated salarian attempted to shake a fist in what he perceived as the comm officer's direction before stumbling forward trying to find his console. "I was studying the effects of pie when equated with Naravon's theory of latent isomorphs."

"And reading personal logs." The volus almost sounded as if he were chirping with joy at his superiors vexed state. "Trying to connect to engineering. No signal. Can you get emergency power on?"

"Ok, ok. As soon as I can find my keypad."

"To your left. No, your other left, Karaten."

"Here?" The salarian gave an experimental prod at a flat ledge.

"That's it."

"Nothing is happening. Its not even making the annoying consoles-broken noise." Karaten tried stabbing the corpse of his console furtively with all fingers. "You need to contact engineering… Dorlan? DORLAN!"

"I'm here!" The muffled sounds of the volus percolated the eerily quiet atmosphere of the frigate. "I'm trying to route my console manually to the emergency power."

"Oh…. Yes… good idea." The tall alien began to shiver from nerves and the chill of the air. "Cold in here isn't it."

"Is it?" Dorlan remarked over the sounds of sparking wires somewhere inside a hatch under his desk. "I'm wearing an environmental suit."

"Is it me or is the air feeling a little thin." Karaten began to gently wheeze.

"Calm down soldier. Our air reserves wouldn't be depleting that quickly." The hidden voice soothed. "You're just panicking."

"Oh and shouldn't I be panicking?" The salarian stumbled towards the sound of the volus' voice wanting to shake some concern into the little man. "Not as if we've lost power, life-support, gravity… frell!"

"Karaten?"

"What?"

"What just happened?"

"I found the ceiling…"

"Good. You won't be ejected into space then." Dorlan restrained the urge to chuckle. "That should… yes."

"What?"

"The emergency power should be connected to the comms." The stubby volus pulled himself from out of the hatch and back into his chair. "I have a distress beacon ready. No other communication systems are functioning. Should I deploy it Lieutenant?"

"Why are you- ouch-asking me?" The navigation officer rubbed his bumped head sourly, trying to figure a way to get down from the ceiling without smashing into the floor.

"Because you're the highest ranked officer I can contact."

"Oh… uh … yes, yes. Send the beacon. Get someone to come and rescue me from this boorish vessel of simpering doom."

"Yes, sir." The comm officer inhaled deeply before pushing the button to eject the beacon. "Beacon released. Transmitting automated distress call on all frequencies."

"Now what?" Karaten queried as he began to shimmy down the wall.

"We wait for rescue here or go to find the rest of the crew."

"What do you think we should do?"

"Its your decision, sir."

"Yes and I'm ordering you to tell me what to do!"

Dorlan rolled his eyes passively behind his helmet, aware of the Navigation officer's eyes boring into the back of his skull eagerly awaiting instruction. It was deeply exasperating that the salarian, so eager to express his opinions normally, would turn into a coward or mindless automaton whenever things became stressful or involved his survival.

With a heart felt sigh, the stubby man placed one magnetically gripping boot after the other, as he began his address to his simpering superior whom latched onto his shoulder to use him to be manoeuvred through zero gravity.

"Lets find the crew. We need to get the power back on in case no friendly ships are within reaching distance."

"Just what I was thinking!" Karaten bobbed his head agreeably before pointing a finger over the volus' shoulder towards the only viable exit. "Bring me about and lead the way, Dorlan."

"Yes, sir." The comm officer in took a long irritable breath before walking on, salarian in tow.

___________________________________

The old Caribbean doctor was humming loudly to himself, twisting his hips gently to a disguised beat, whilst looking over the results of some probing scans of the resting Corporals inner workings. As the lights and general noises, of busying equipment, died down to a silent emptiness he arched his brow in curiosity before the med labs dedicated emergency power unit kicked in to bring a speckle of coloured light back into the inky blackness.

It wasn't long until Omari's tune resurfaced insidiously on the hum of his chest and grew in volume to cover the lack of engine thrum that normally radiated from the vessels metallic walls. A stirring a top a medical cot caught the aging human's attention as he swung around and leaned his form back into a large snug chair.

"Argh…" the flexing figure of the Corporal spluttered over attempts to dislodge his skull from the rest of his body.

"Pallas." Omari almost singed the turian's name into his purring tune. "Up already? I thought I gave you enough sedative for another few hours."

"Argh…" was the immediate response from the drugged corporal, before he found his vocal chords hidden under the offensive head. "Something … something … something is … wrong…"

"Oh?"

"Why… is it … so … dark in … here?" Gungnir flexed his jaw trying to figure out what the strange mushroom taste in his dehydrated maw was.

"Powers out." The doctor chuckled as if such a thing was a normal occurrence. "Everything, apart from medical systems, is out of use. Including the lights. We'll just have to do with the light from the consoles for now."

"Oh." Pallas seemed to take this as his cue to fall back into a deep slumber, snores and all.

Omari shook his head, his body following suit and rippling merrily, deeming the younger turian's actions as highly amusing. Still quaking gently, under the shockwave of chuckles residing in his chest, he swivelled around in his chair placing the clear plastic scans he had been mulling over onto a vacant space beside his inoperative console. As he did so a strange feeling warped over the elderly gentlemen's significant form, causing another bought of eyebrow arching as if it had become an epidemic, and dislodging the relentless melody from his short term memory.

"Hmmm… I can't seem to feel my rear against the chair." The doctor delved a hand, towards the affected area, finding his familiar and considerable buttocks but lack of chair. "Oh. Oh?"

Peering downwards, Omari found the acute affliction to his ailment, his body apparently was able to sit stationary on simple air. It wasn't until he tore his eyes away from the space between his upper body and the floor the doctor finally located the chair spinning gently away from its original position across the room. A childish glee blossomed within the brown orbs, of the Caribbean gentlemen, as a new bout of laughter caused the creases of his face to ignite into deep ravines. It wasn't long before the force of his mirth began to spin him effortlessly in a slow somersaulting loop, through the reign of zero gravity, before he managed to steady himself by clasping the edge of his cluttered desk.

As the giggles abated Omari tapped the communication key beside his workstation, only to find a single open line to the command deck, and began a merry address.

"Med lab to Command deck." The doctor patiently awaited a response. "Dorlan? Are you all alight up there? Hello?"

Removing his trigger finger from the comm unit the aged human frowned in a state of deep worry plotting his next course. _I suppose I should get down there just in case_, he soon decided, grabbing an emergency medical kit latched to the side of a wall and pushing himself into take off like a slow moving plump super hero through the effects of no gravitational force.

Upon reaching the med lab doors the gallant healer on his way to rescue his crew soon found a snag in his plans. No power for opening the doors.

"Damn." Omari cursed as he attempted to use the doors manual release only to hear the hydraulics gurgle unpleasantly before fizzing into silence. "Come on!"

However, as much as the Doctor, thumped, pleaded and attempted to force the issue, the doors seemed only to become far more aggressive in their refusal to open. After some tiring minutes, the old human finally gave up on the task at hand and peered around his office space turned prison cell for new ideas.

"Of course!" Omari turned about and set a new floating course to sail towards, landing somewhat clumsily beside the Corporals unconscious body. "I need to borrow this a second Pallas."

"Snzzzuck…" Corporal Gungnir replied through the occasional lucid dreaming rambles about naked women apparently pole dancing around thresher maws.

Shaking his head in amusement, the doctor felt around the turian's arm calling up the Omni tool hidden there and immediately being forced to close down a number of illicit extranet sites still loaded on the interface. Finally free of the cluttered pages Omari opened the communication browser and decided to contact the first open signal on the list.

"Garrus?"

"_Whose this?"_ The Spectre replied shortly before what sounded like an argument followed by a scuffle was transmitted over the open comm.

"_Omari?" _A familiar female continued. "_Is everything alright?"_

"That's what I was calling you to know, Tori." The aging human chuckled. "I'm stuck in the med lab and Command deck aren't responding. What happened? Are there any casualties?"

"_Not that I know of. I'm currently with Vakarian in the mess hall. We'll head towards Engineering and see if we can find Heranon. Can you contact Dharam? Tell him to come get you out of the med lab and bring the Corporal to Engineering. His technical skills will be needed to help get the ships power up."_

"So we haven't been attacked?"

"_I shouldn't think so. I'll tell you more when I know more."_

"I'll expect your report soon. Med lab out."

_______________________________

Blue eyes glowed in the darkness of the Hierarchy III's garage, followed intermittently by aggravated huffs and growls. Brief illumination from a biotic amp created an eerie cerulean blush over a turian form, currently straining to hold a portal ajar, before he orchestrated a powerful force push. An unhealthy shrink of scraping metal exhaled, into the alcove the door normally occupied when opened, signalling the end of the attack and leaving the turian biotic once again in a lonesome ink soaked void.

"_Dharam?"_ A small distinct voice reverberated from the turian's suit.

"Doctor Harrigan? What are you doing on Gungnir's line?" Dharam questioned slowly, attempting to catch his breath from his recent excursion.

"_The corporal is loaning his radio to me."_ The level of mirth in the human's voice ignited a tensing of mandibles. "_Tori told me to contact you. She wants you to come and break us out of the med lab, then get the corporal to engineering to repair the ship_."

"Wilco." The turian biotic abruptly ended the transmission.

Pausing in a world of his own, Dharam flexed his mandibles in thought, occasionally brushing away flecks of perspiration. Upon coming to some decision Lieutenant Kshatri brought up a new connection on his Omni tool.

"Private Carbery." He waited patiently to no response. "Private Carbery!"

"_What! I'm sleeping. Is there no such thing as privacy?"_

"Not in the military, Private."

"_Oh, its you Dha- I mean Sir!"_

"Grab some weapons from storage locker eight and make your way to the Command deck." He continued is own route up a service ladder to the next floor, not wanting to argue with another door so soon along the regular path. "Contact me if anything is out of the ordinary."

"_I can't get my light to turn on, is that out of the ordinary?"_

"The ships power is out. Suspect a possible attack."

"_We've been attacked? By who? Geth?"_

"It's possible." Dharam huffed, pulling himself out of a hatch suspicious of the environment, appearing nearby to a sealed portal dimly lit by his Omni tool. "Its also possible its just a fault in engineering."

"_Right, I'll be rig- shit_." A series of loud thumps followed by colourful curses permeated the comm.

"Private?"

"_Yes, sir? My armour is just attacking me. Who turned off the damn gravity?"_

"Get to the Command deck. I expect a report in six minutes."

"_Ye- Yes sir!"_ The communiqué concluded.

Leaving the Omni tool on for the extra light the turian officer strode to the doorway tapping it with the back of his three-fingered hand.

"Doctor Harrigan." Dharam accused. "I'm going to open this door. Stand back."

"_Yes. Alright." _The metal barrier muffled the human's chuckle.

______________________________

"On three." An asari demanded the human's concentration as she shifted her fingers within the recesses of a door. "One, two, THREE!"

Both figures pushed and pulled at the obstinate panel, creating strained and aggravated noises before their own force caused them to hover upwards without artificial gravity to keep them grounded.

"Frell! Frell! Frell!" Anyaba swore, pausing her ascent with the palm of a hand on the ceiling, whilst fumbling for a roll up in her pocket.

"Eighth times the charm?" Nikolai suggested, helpfully, only to have new streams of curses shot in his direction. "Ok, ok. Was only trying to help."

"Keep it to yourself." The aggravated alien inhaled a deep puff of her cigarette before passing it onto the Russian floating beside her.

"What now?"

"I dunno." The pilot sighed; taking the roll-up back and puffing on it like a chimney.

"Maybe if we yell enough someone will hear." Nikolai shrugged his shoulders before looking over to where he guessed the salarian was still sleeping. "Hey, Heranon?"

"Uh?" A small high-pitched voice squeaked in surprise.

"Make that noise again. The one that sounds like something's dying painfully." Rimsky coaxed, gaining a snort of amusement from the asari, or at least he hoped it was amusement. "That ought to get everybody's attention."

"Go choke on a dick." Heranon replied sharply.

"Heranon. I'm impressed." Anyaba nodded her head in approval at the salarian's first attempt at cursing.

"I heard it on a vid."

"A bit tame if you ask me." The human sniffed at the air feeling a little inadequate. "Where was the violent implications and grotesque language? There wasn't even a questioning of my legitimacy."

"Well lets hear your best, child." The cerulean alien folded her arms and took another draught, expelling a blanket of smoke around the Russian's face.

"Alright." He cleared his throat eagerly, cracking his knuckles, as if this would help his delivery. "You progeny of a tit wanking gorgon with a fist so far up your asshole even the aids infested prisons wouldn't gang bang your shitty crevices before curb stomping your brains out of your eye sockets."

"Rimsky!" The engineer blushed.

"I told you." Nikolai bobbed his head, fused happily with self-assurance. "How about you Anyaba?"

"*Removed for public decency reasons*"

A long moment of silence stretched onwards as the human and salarian mulled over the information they had just received. The sounds of dried vegetation gently burning, followed by relaxed exhales of smoky breath, punctuating the vacuum.

"Damn." The Russian was the first to respond, whispering his words carefully as if afraid of another onslaught, followed closely by a salarian whimper.

"Pussies." Anyaba grunted, rubbing her roll-up out against the ceiling and sprinkling them all with molten ash.


	5. Chapter 5 Red cliff

**The turian special ops squad, Shadow, Reaper, Delta, Hazard and Dagger are cameo's from Blackrain7557's story Angels and Turian's. If you haven't read his work already you should it's a lot of gun wielding fun.**

**_________________________________________________________**

**Chapter 5 Red cliff**

It had been four hours, twenty-three minutes and nineteen seconds since the engines had died. During this time a rapid decrease in temperature had occurred, aggravating the turian crew, coupled with declining oxygen levels.

Doctor Harrigan wasn't sure how much longer the crew could survive the torments of space or which would kill them first, cold, anoxia or irritated bloodlust. He was starting to lean in favour of bloodlust as he watched his XO fighting with the Spectre again.

"Stop stealing my air!" Toriamos shot a threatening finger under the turian's nose and shook it a few times for good measure.

"I can't see what I'm doing with the helmet on!" Garrus growled. "Stop nudging me!"

"I am not nudging you!" She nudged him again, on purpose this time.

"You did it again!"

"I did nothing! Now put that helmet on!"

"Now, now chicklets." Pallas chuckled, high on medication, and continued dismantling a spring attached to a thingy. "Why can't we all just get alo-"

"SHUT UP!" The XO and Spectre screamed in unison before wobbling uneasily from the exertion.

"Alright." Omari sauntered over to the crouched pair, currently gripping the nearest stable object for support, and frowned disconcertedly. "Enough of that, all of you, you're on edge because of the anoxia."

"Anoxia?" Vakarian creased his brow in thought. "That's when there's a lack of oxygen to the brain."

"That it is." The doctor chuckled whilst scanning the turian with his omni tool. "I'll give you something to thin out the blood. That oughta help but things would be better if you re-attached your helmet."

"I can handle it." Garrus shook his head in dismissal. "Just do what you can Doctor Harrigan."

"Hmm." Omari ponder a moment, loading a syringe with a clear liquid, but decided against arguing with the much larger turian. "You'll feel dizzy and nauseous but this should keep you working straight for another hour. After that, Helmet on."

"Very well." The Spectre agreed, tilting his head, exposing the soft flesh beneath his chin and allowing the Doctor access with the serum.

Giving the medication a minute to kick in Garrus began to feel the dull buzz in his head replaced by a feeling of floating. Shaking it off he turned back to the output connections, to the driver core, he was attempting to correct and got back to work.

After checking the turian over with another scan Omari knelt slowly, hampered by the snug military suit he was wearing rather than by age for once, beside the XO now holding her head in her hands and groaning.

"Tori, can you stand?" The Doctor whispered to the swaying woman.

"Just give me the same as him, I'll be fine."

"I need you to suck it up solder and walk over there," he pointed towards an access corridor. "with me."

"Just. Give. Me. The. Same. As. The. Spectre." Ioik growled quiet enough for the Doctor to hear but keep the neighbours out of the loop.

"I can't do that and you know I can't." Omari returned a harden look meaning business. "Now get up and come with me unless you'd like me to relieve you of command and force you outside."

"Omari this isn't the time. We're going to die if we don't get the core back online. There's no time for you to fuss over me. I can cope."

The old Caribbean narrowed his eyes, wrinkling his brow in a mixture of concern, anger and deliberation, before looking at the readings on his omni tool once again. Coming to a decision he brought out a fresh syringe from his medi pack and began filling it.

"When this is over we need to have a serious chat Tori."

"I know."

"I'm disappointed in you." He gripped her chin softly sighing as he plied her with drugs.

"I know. I'm sorry." Her eyes became downcast before suddenly opening wide in shock as she upchucked onto the matte metal flooring.

"IOIK! The frell!" The Corporal hystericed as a globial of floating orange and blue vomit swam towards him. "Try swallowing it back down next time. We are in zero gravity."

"Alright Tori?" Omari scanned the woman again.

"Never felt better."

"No, no, no! Not the rela- ah that's going to take a week to get the smell off. You're really disgusting you know that? Must be that all that red blood i-"

"Corporal Gungnir that is enough. If you spent as much energy as you do complaining on working we'd have a fully functioning ship by now." Vakarian barked before turning abruptly back to his work before the other turian could make rebuke.

Pallas watched the Spectre in muted astonishment; thankful his helmet masked the look on his face, before turning back to his station and angrily pulling some wiring loose.

"At least I'm a qualified engineer." Pallas shook his head as he mouthed off inaudibly. "And I can work with my helmet on. Could kick your ass to you political bastard. Bet you haven't even been with a woman…"

Toriamos glanced at the Spectre, efficiently working at his station, and shuddered at the thoughts she was having. He was probably a better leader than she'd ever be to this crew and apart of her desperately wanted him to take control so she could be under the wings and crutches of orders again.

Shaking the thoughts away she lifted a metal tube and began trying to ram it unceremoniously back into place against its will. Hopefully they could discover the problem amongst all of these minor faults soon. At least the engine room was finally getting that badly needed maintenance.

As Omari stepped away from the busy workers, in order to catch particles of swirling vomit from the air into a Petri dish, a loud collision followed by the squealing scraping of metal on metal reverberated through the vessels hull causing a quake in its path.

__________________________________

Dharam stopped in his tracks at the sound ringing through the corridor he was currently patrolling. He stealthily drew his assault rifle from his back and took a defensive pose watching both ends of the corridor with equal suspicion.

"Private." He flicked open the comm. link.

"_Were we just hit by an asteroid?"_

"Unknown. Sounded like a ship docking in the lower section. Have you located any more of the crew?"

"_No, we haven't seen the others. Its like they've just disappeared."_

"Take Serviceman Ilyn and Lieutenant Karaten to the engine room with the others and barricade the doors. Protect them at all costs Private."

"_Yes, sir. What are you going to do?"_

"Recognisance." He closed the line, hearing a new sound-filling the corridor.

Crouching low the lone turian listened to the sound of a door creaking open, one after the other followed by soft pattering of claw to metal flooring. For the briefest of moments he thought he heard a hushed voice commanding further movements. The intruders were getting closer and fast. At least two floors down negotiating the winding valleys of the bay and manoeuvring faster than he suspected a mercenary crew could. Soon they would be- a rush of minimal air moving from a sealed level into the corridor directly below him signalled the maintenance hatch to the second floor being opened.

Staying perfectly still the patient solider listened eagerly to bodies emerging cautiously below him. One, two, three breathing bodies emerged from the trap door instantly flattening themselves against the walls and taking aims in different directions.

"Reaper, clear."

"Delta, clear.

"Dagger, clear."

"Delta, take rear." The voice of Reaper whispered. "Move out right towards the med lab."

Unvoiced nods of compliancy were quickly followed by tapping feet; leading away from their silent observer. He'd have to work quickly to secure the command centre from these intruders.

Standing up, guardedly, Lieutenant Kshatri slid along the wall to the open doors of command and hurried inside. All the consoles were as black and lifeless as the last time he checked, the only light filtering in through the pilots window from distant stars making the pitch black a gloomy colour. Lucky for him he practiced regularly in the dark and immediately set to work with ease.

Unhooking a grenade from his back and a sachet of goo, the turian began plying omni gel to the edge of the open door. After applying a generous amount he attached the grenade to the sticky substance before pulling open the control panel release. Removing a clear wire he set to the chore of attaching it to the trigger mechanism in the grenade. Once everything was connected up he moved outside, bending the wire around the section of door so it was on the same side as him before beginning the ordeal of closing the resistant metal slab. At least the lack of gravity was making the door weightless, if only the mechanism attached to the thing wasn't so stubborn it would have been a simple task. Instead it took the Lieutenant several minutes, he could not waste, to heave the bulk into position leaving him the final task of attaching the wire to the opposite side door the grenade was placed upon and strapping it down with a little more omni gel.

Mission accomplished Dharam crept his way towards the right exit of the floor hoping to catch the team of three below, looting the med lab, off guard.

Back against the wall the Lieutenant sidestepped towards the Med lab's open portal assault rifle gripped firmly against his chest. Listening to the hushed voice within he tried to figure out each vocal owners position in the room and formulated a plan accordingly.

A grenade was not going to work here, he could already hear the old human doctors abusive hurling at the state of his room being that of a battlefield. If he timed it right the middle aged soldier figured he could subdue the three with the element of surprise at his disposal and a lot of luck.

Releasing his left hand from the shaft of his assault rifle Dharam flexed his fingers readying a biotic attack and inhaled a deep breath before catapulting his body around the open doorway and hitting two of the three with a well practiced force push dropping abruptly to one knee marginally missing a barrage of bullets from the third enemies pistol.

Firing a torrent of projectiles from his own weapon, causing the other soldier to duck behind a desk, Lieutenant Kshatri barrel rolled to the safety of a cot sensing movement from the previous two combatants. The shrapnel holes from a shotgun round embedding themselves in the wall behind him indicating his instincts correct though as he peered under the cot at the sets of feet in the far corner of the room only one was standing. The other turian had luckily been knocked out when the biotic attack had knocked him harshly against the wall.

Watching the two sets of active crouching legs, Dharam waited for one of the pair to make the first move and present a target. The enemy on his left, wielding the shotgun, soon began tempting fate when he leaned over the edge of his own cot barrier aiming his weapon with a steady gaze where the lone soldier was hiding.

"Surrender, you're out numbered." The voice of Dagger commanded.

Lieutenant Kshatri frowned taking the order as a direct challenge increasing his kinetic shielding with a barrier before hoping up from behind his defence. Firing his assault rifle towards the combatant on the right to halt the pistol wielding turian from covering his ally he let his shields take a shotgun round before managing to use lift on his assailant. The scenario worked much better in his head, however, he forgot to factor in the severe lack of gravity. Instead of sending the turian up to the ceiling in a tangled mess the suction in his boots was keeping him firmly on the ground. The attack only served to mildly disorientate the light tan turian and give his partner the chance to pop his head out and overload the Lieutenants weapons.

Growling in annoyance Dharam flung the overheated assault rifle at Dagger, stuck firmly in place by the combined effects of lift and anti-gravity boots, catching his helmet head on and knocking the turian into an uncomfortable backward position. A pistol bullet grazed his shoulder plating before he had the chance to duck down back into cover but that didn't stop him from diving around the side of the medical cot and catching the lone shooter in a stasis field.

As he stood, gingerly retrieving a pistol from his back, something metallic brushed against the back of his armoured neck.

"Move and I'll shoot." A new voice from behind barked. "Dagger, are you alright?"

"I'm stuck." Dagger attempted to flap his arms to right himself.

"Hazard, help him up. I've got this one." He gave his captive an infuriated prod with his weapon. "Drop the pistol."

Dharam thought about this command for a moment before doing as he was told and tossing the weapon forward only to watch it ricocheted off a wall and float away.

"Now, who are you and what have you done to this vessel?"

"Why would I do anything to my own vessel?" The Lieutenant spoke slowly as if he thought he was communicating with a small child.

"You're a member of the crew?" The mysterious voice questioned sceptically.

"Of course I am."

"Prove it."

"Why?"

"Because we're turian military special ops from the SSV Manhattan here to rescue you."

Dharam was silent a moment as he replayed the events of the last hour in his head. Now he thought about it they had moved with a military efficiency through the bay as if they knew the layout well and the green armour was definitely not an ordinary colour for mercenaries. A complete turian team as well, normally scavengers had at least one krogan along for the ride.

"2nd Lieutenant Dharam Kshatri, Turian military assigned to Hierarchy III registry number dash eight nine two six five zero omega sentry one."

There was a long pause in which Dagger exclaimed in relief as the effects of the lift wore off and moved to help Hazard bring Reaper into recovery from his little knock with the wall. A few more seconds past as the body behind the Lieutenant sound as if he was fiddling with an omni tool, no doubt checking the crew manifest of the ship they were currently on.

"Kshatri, you're confirmed."

The voice removed the barrel from the back of the other turians neck, though neither un-tensed, as a metallic sigh permeated the air signalling the end of the stasis field restricting the final turian caught under the biotics attack. As Delta was released from his constraints his mind whirled back into action, finding his target and instinctually firing at it. Not expecting the attack Dharam cursed as a projectile embedded in his arm, a spray of azure blood congealing in the air, and moved to defend himself.

"Stand down, Delta!" The mysterious voice made his presence known, jumping in between the two bodies. "He's one of ours."

"Sorry, Shadow." Delta quickly relinquished his aim though continued to glare at the injured turian who had caught him in a stasis field.

Moving away from the group Shadow opened a comm. line to his own vessel, making a call in, as Dharam watched him with eagle blue eyes suspicious to the end. Now with Reaper roused and attempting to stand on unsteady feet Dagger made his way to the newest victim clutching his arm to halt any further bleeding.

"Let me take a look at that."

"Its fine. I'll do it myself."

"I'm a medic." Dagger tried.

"So am I." Dharam rebuked, looking at his arm and then feeling around his hip for his field kit.

"Then you know how difficult it is to remove a slug from that position and not damage the tendons." The light tan turian folded his arms in defiance.

"Hrmm." Lieutenant Kshatri grumbled as he surrendered his arm to the other.

________________________________

"Carbery, what's going on?" Lieutenant-commander Ioik questioned as the human ran through the doors trailing Dorlan and Karaten behind her.

"The Lieutenant reckons someone's docked with the ship. He ordered me to barricade the doors." Nano set about closing the inactive portals as the Volus waddled clear of the threshold.

"Mercenaries?" Garrus looked up from his station.

"Unknown, sir."

"Where's Dharam in the mean time?" Toriamos cocked an eyebrow fully aware of where the old soldier would be.

"Recognisance." The private confirmed.

"You mean booby trapping the place." Pallas interjected as he fused some wires back together.

"Corporal Gungnir?" Nano halted as she pushed the doors firmly shut. "I thought you were in a coma or dying or something."

"Ah it is good to be alive. If only to disappoint."

"Oh, well I wasn't disappointed. Been wandering what you'd be like after all the stories I've heard." The private watched her colleague a second before searching around for something to barricade the door.

"They're all true." The turian cackled in a mocking tone.

"Especially the bad ones." Dorlan exclaimed, pushing a large crate over to the door.

"The worse the better."

"I wouldn't be so proud of your deeds Pallas." Omari sighed.

"I regret nothing."

"Um… how exactly do we barricade a door in zero gravity?" Nano chimed in, trying to hold down the boxes Dorlan and herself had moved to the door. "The supply crates are just hovering away."

"Solder it shut for now." The Spectre stopped his fixing in order to toss a rectangular object the soldier's way.

"Is there still no signs of Heranon and the others?" The XO queried.

"No." Dorlan sighed causing his mask to make a hissing sound. "We searched the bays and second level but there's no sign of them."

"I can't imagine Anyaba hiding."

"She would not."

"This is… unusual." Tori scratched the back of her head in a human gesture of confusion. "We'll have to get the power back on and scan for them. Can you take a look at the injector ports?"

"Yes. Sure." The comms officer nodded and moved closer to the core.

"Karaten?"

"Yes? Yes? What is it?" The salarian shivered from cold and fear.

"See if you can reroute the couplers over there."

"What do I look like? An engineer? I'm a navigator. A mathematician. I have a PHD in advance spectral theory! You see these hands?" He waved both appendages at his superior currently rolling her eyes. "These hands are not for M-A-N-U-A-L labour! These hands are for the enhancement of t-"

"There will be no 'enhancement' of anything if you die here Lieutenant!" Garrus Vakarian shot the salarian a dangerous look. "Do as you're told and save yourself."

"Y-y-yes, S-sir." The navigation officer scuttled eagerly to his new station.

Ioik sighed, glancing side long at the Spectre once again, trying to fight down the rebellious thoughts attempting to spill from her gut. He did it again; she felt ridiculous like a child in her mother's gown and shoes trying to be grown up next to a man who was covering her rear at every turn.

_I need you to suck it up soldier_, the Doctor's words haunted her mind carrying a separate meaning.

"Suck it up soldier." She murmured, glancing back to the turian only to find his eyes already firmly surveying her own.

______________________________

"What happened here?" Shadow began interrogating the Lieutenant, as Dagger finished treating his wound with a healthy does of medi gel.

"Engineers always been a little crazy. We can't find her anywhere and the engines died."

"Why isn't your backup power working?"

"A lot of things don't work on this ship. Must have slipped Heranon's mind."

"What about the rest of the engineering crew?"

"Died over six months ago."

"Why haven't you requested new personnel?"

"Did." Both turian's observed one another guardedly.

"Where has the engineer disappeared to?"

"If I knew that she wouldn't be missing." Dharam folded his arms defensively, fighting back a wince of pain at the wound on his arm. "The accounted crew is in the engine room trying to fix the fault."

"We'll re-group with your crew there." Shadow nodded. "Anyone else disappeared?"

"Pilot and the cook."

"Can't be too hard to find three individuals on a vessel this size." Reaper proposed.

"Ha!" Lieutenant Kshatri huffed a dull chortle. "We've been searching this frigate for four hours and had no signs. I suspect they're either dead or hiding."

"Either way, I'll find them." Hazard cocked his shotgun once for dramatic effect.

"Try using your eyes not your gun."

"Reaper, take Hazard and Dagger and search all levels for the missing crew. Delta, Kshatri and I will head to the engine room. Maintain contact every twenty minutes." Shadow waited for acknowledgment from each of his squad. "Kshatri, let your people know we're coming. We don't need any more friendly fire today."

"Hrmm." Dharam begrudged the statement but proceeded to open a link to Private Carbery. "Before I forget. I attached a grenade to the command centre door. Don't attempt to open it."

"Thanks for the heads up." Reaper inclined his head before guiding his designated team out of Med lab.

"Private Carbery?"

"_Sir! Is everything alright?"_

"Fine Private."

"_I couldn't get anything to stay against the door so I've been trying to solder it shut for the last twenty minutes."_

"Hold off."

"_Er… yes sir."_

"We've got a turian special op's squad on board. Three of us are coming up to engineering. The other three are searching for the missing crew. Can you get those doors open again?"

"_Um… Its kind of-"_ A new set of voices whispered incoherently over the open comm. line. _"Oh, are you sure that'll work?... Alright, umm… I'll get the laser pen. What's it look like?... Creepy…"_

"Private?" The turian grumbled.

"_What? Oh, yes. I've got a weird looking laser pen. Gungnir says it ought to open even a Dalatress's leg- Hey! That's disgusting!"_

"Private, get the door open now!" Dharam hammered the off button with a little more force than was necessary. "Human. Fresh out of the academy yesterday."

"Lets continue." Shadow made to leave, apparently accepting the other turian's explanation.

_________________________________

"Dear Goddess I still really need that piss!" Anyaba wailed, clutching her legs tightly together as she floated upside down in the cupboard.

"I'm sure they'll get us out of here soon." Nikolai continued to swat clumps of ash flying towards his face. "Just don't piss in here. Floating urine _and_ ash is not what we need in such a tight space."

"I've been holding it for hours! Have you no mercy?"

"I am not the one who has been chain smoking for the past few hours and partially blinded a crewmate." The Russian leaned towards the engineer currently curled into a foetal position and whimpering. "There, there Heranon. She's out of cigarettes."

"But you're not! Hand them over, human!"

"I already told you, you can't have them, Anyaba!"

"I'm going to relieve myself one way or the other." The crazed Asari pulled a pistol, aiming it upside down but accurately towards the male's forehead. "You decide!"

"Not this again. I'm not scared of you Anyaba. It may surprise you but there are other forces in this galaxy far more terrifying than you. Dying in a tin can is one of them."

"Fine. I'll put you out of your misery for the packet then. Trade?"

Rimsky gave a look of perplexed curiosity at the offer before shaking his head and chuckling lightly.

"I am afraid bribery will not work with me this time Anyaba. I promised my mother long ago I would die only by natural means."

"Seems natural to me. Bullet to the brain, or that single heart of yours will stop the machine."

"Yes, yes. But I am sure she meant in my sleep or something along those lines."

"I can wait." The pilot grinned sardonically. "Feeling tired?"

Clearing his dry throat, Nikolai settled his head back against an uncomfortable crate staring defiantly at the gun wielding asari. Silence descended, pervaded occasionally by the sounds of the salarian's pained and frightened moans.

It was during this silence a previously unnoticed sound made its appearance known. The sounds of clattering feet upon metal flooring and voices from the outside world.

"_-eard voices coming from this way."_

"Whose that?" Nikolai whispered to the glaring asari. "I don't recognise the voice."

"Scavengers maybe." Anyaba, kicked the ceiling lightly and made her way to the closet door.

"_Nothing but storage lockers down here, Dagger." _A second voice rumbled.

"_I definitely heard voices."_ Dagger responded. _"Something about bribes and dying of natural causes."_

"_Is your air supply working?"_ A third voice sounded worried.

"_My suit is fine. My vitals are fine."_

"_Must be your hearing then."_

"_Check the stores anyway."_ The second voice returned, followed by the sounds of a nearby door being forced open.

"They're looking for us." Heranon poked her head up, though keeping her eyes firmly shut, and squeaked. "They're going to kill us!"

"Shhh!" Both asari and human hushed in unison.

"_I heard another voice."_

"_Me too."_

"_Coming from in there."_

"_Quickly, open the door, Hazard."_

Hazard leaned all his weight against the door forcing the mechanism to bend to his will and budge open a few inches. Reaching his talons around the open edge of the door he easily pushed it the rest of the way open expecting to see dead or frighten crewmembers. However, the sight that greeted him was something else entirely, a glaring asari with a pistol dangerously prodding the underside of his chin.

"Take me to the bathroom or I will _kill_ you."


End file.
